The Great Pursuit
by winterarrow
Summary: The war is over and a crippled Harry Potter ends up in Forks. The plan is to live alone and heal while learning to deal with the rest of his wrecked life. Having an obsessive scary blonde vampire chase him wasn't part of the plan. Disabled!MoD!Harry (working title); Rating will probably change to M later.
1. Chpt 1: Days Gone Bye

The war is over and a crippled Harry Potter ends up in Forks. The plan is to live alone and heal while learning to deal with the rest of his wrecked life. Having an obsessive scary blonde vampire chase him wasn't part of the plan. Disabled!MoD!Harry (working title)

I don't own anything. I'm a hobo under a bridge, ergo I own nothing. All right to their respective owners and all that.

* * *

 **The Great Pursuit**

 **Chapter One** **:** **Days Gone By**

 _ **7th August – 1998** _

It was quiet in the house.

The people usually inside were out, seizing the opportunity of a nice day. One inhabitant had remained and didn't share their enthusiasm. Though with it, an opportunity had been seized as well. The chance to be alone inside for a small while. Behind a small desk sat a figure; perfectly still, the fascinating display of an elegant and statuesque pose on a rickety old kitchen chair. The wood did not seem to dare to groan under its current owner. Frozen in such stillness one could easily mistake the figure for an actual statue. The only source of movement and sound was a pale hand holding a pen, flying over the creamy paper and leaving dark blue veins of ink behind.

It was quiet in the house, with only soft scratching resounding.

The hand held still for a moment, laying the pen aside, careful not to break the fragile thing, while rereading some earlier notions of long ago, forgotten or cast aside by today's world.

 _17_ _th_ _of July – 1933; entry 1_

 _I don't quite know why I waited so long with this, even if it seems utterly useless. Without purpose, robbed of it. I can relate to this unused diary. I have been robbed of mine as well. My purpose, my life, my dreams and my friend and family. The only thing I retained is my beauty. Yet even now, that I am more beautiful than I could ever have wished for, I have never felt uglier. This beauty is dazzling and almost too great. Unnatural. Inhuman. A display of perfection – I always was one – but with a monster hidden underneath. But perhaps I should start clearer. If I ever will have another to give this to, I should be clearer and start at the very beginning, writing down what little I remember before those memories, like all other things of worth are taken from me as well. My written legacy shall not be one of insane ramblings, no matter how pathetic or inane it may be._

 _My name is Rosalie Lilian Hale. I was born in the cold winter of 1915 in Rochester, New York. A child of the new year. People said that that cold day in January was a day of beautiful soft snow that had sadly missed its Christmas appointment. A beautiful picture, ready to be drawn on a postcard, straight out of a dreamy fairytale in the greatest city on earth. People often forget the point that they are only beautiful from inside, behind the window serving as a display glass. Outside, it is cold, harsh and inconvenient._

 _My parent are_ –were- _nice people, I suppose. They loved me and did their best to raise me and I loved them. I still do. Unfortunately, there is the tiny detail that to them,_ _I am dead_ _. They were not perfect parents in any sense. I realise that I was quite spoiled and I was used in the ambitious social climbing ends of my father. Not that my mother disagreed with him in any sense, but she simply followed my father, who was the brain and muscle of the family. We were well-off; -Rich middle-class. But they wanted more, Howard and Dorothy Hale. They desired to become part of the newly scandalous rich who settled in their modern castles around West-Egg._

 _I had two little brothers, too. Robert and Thomas Hale. They adored me, and I was fond of them. I had hoped to be able to teach them something as an older sister, I know I would have loved it. Alas, it was not to be since Howard and Dorothy never taught me anything beyond a good limited education and skills a lady was to know. Off those things my languages and piano are the only things I like. Embroidery is something I will never have to do again. Thank the heaven for small favours, even if they pale in comparison to the grand dystopia I have become. My father often bought nice dresses for me, and I grew up, spoiled and lavished. I loved it. Every moment of attention on my beautiful self was one I loved. I was adored and desired, and I lived for it. Still, my parents had their flaws, but they meant well. In their roaring ambition they had only made the single mistake of marrying me off to a murderer._

 _His name was Royce King II. The son of the owner of the bank where father worked. They were rich, so very rich, the Kings, worthy of their name. A combination of old money with their banks and new money via investments in Wall street through those banks. We met at the bank actually – a clever set-up by my father which seemed entirely coincidental. He was talented like that, in setting things up. Customers or marriages, what's the difference? Soon after, I received an invitation to one of the Kings' parties. It was wild, lavishing and luxurious in an unholy amount so great I found myself surprised to not have been struck down by the lord for such a disgusting display of decadence. But I was young, foolish and naïve. An eighteen year old girl who had the attention of many rich guests and the desire of the richest of all, the prince charming of the castle, the handsome Royce King II. Bedazzled by pretty lights and drunk by the mere sight of such wealth I sighed myself silly at the perfection that was my life. A month after we were engaged and to be married in a week. A prince and his princess. Just like a fairytale. I should have realised then that the fairytales of the Brothers Grimm were not pretty. They were tales of horror._

 _That night, a week before the marriage of my dreams, I visited Vera – perhaps my closest friend. Of all people, I miss her presence the most. She was married to a common worker –a car mechanic, if I remember correctly- and they were poorer compared with my own home. Yet I've never looked down upon Vera for that, a small act of decency I am still very proud of, pathetic though it may be. They had a son, a beautiful baby boy and I remember well the first time I saw him. For the first time in my life, I had been truly jealous, filled with raging envy at my friend who was less wealthy, less beautiful, less special and less adored to have been giving something so beautiful. I wanted it too. And I would have it, I thought with great satisfaction. A handsome husband and my own beauty could only have produced a perfect child, that we could see grow up while sitting together in the gardens of our castle in West-Egg when we were no longer young and beautiful._

 _Silly, shallow, stupid me._

 _It was that night at Vera's house that I saw another thing she had that I did not : love. As easily as I discarded the notion before and after, I had seen how Vera and her Husband looked at each other. The love and tenderness they had for each other… I felt bad intruding upon their little world. I could not fully deny that I did not possess such love with Royce. We held a physical attraction to each other, but it was little more than a silly infatuation, fuelled by ambition-driven parents and children's stories. I left and went home, refusing to think on that uncomfortable fear inside._

 _What happened afterwards is something I do not wish to recount in great detail, so I will be brief : I encountered Royce on my way home. He and his friends were all heavily intoxicated. I had not known he drunk, often refusing champagne as he did. He spotted me and began to brag to his friends about having the most beautiful wife on earth. Then they laid their hands on me and for hours afterwards, I was put through shame, humiliation, pain and horror in the likes I had not known existed as they all forced themselves upon me. I recall me relief as they finally left me there on the cobblestone street. It was cool and comfortable compared to their treatment. I knew I was dying, that I would not see another dawn. With the brutal reality of how my perfect life how been destroyed, I did not really think I cared particularly much. Yet such a small mercy was not granted, for my suffering had barely begun._

 _It was in this broken pose that a man named Carlisle Cullen found me. I had met him and his family earlier. His wife Esme and her younger brother Edward. Young people and strangely beautiful. Still, I had not given them much thought as they kept to themselves and were not much into the social circles I gallivanted in. It never occurred to me that they did so purposefully, to hide their true nature and make their unnatural beauty more forgettable. But I digress. He found me and took me to his home. I don't remember, I was treading towards death's realm at that point. But I do remember two sharp pricks in my neck and wrists. And then began a torture of the likes that made Royce's treatment seem like gentle kisses. A torrent of fire spread through my body scorching and burning me from the inside out. Every second seemed as long as the lifespan of the earth in that never-ending hellish pain. I was convinced that I was dead and burning in that inferno for sins I couldn't remember, yet I desperately begged that I was not, just so that I could die and the pain could stop. Three days it took, said Carlisle Cullen. He could have said three millennia and I would have believed him instantly. When it was finally over I had become just like them :_

 _A Vampire_

 _Never in all my thoughts and dreams had I expected that those horrors of the night, fairytale creatures of the most monstrous sort, could actually be real. That they had actually integrated in modern society. I must admit dealing with this new reality was not something I handled well. With my new-found strength I utterly destroyed half their house, including old and priceless furniture and art pieces, often made or restored by Esme herself. I suppose I should apologise for that, at least. Perhaps in a few years I will apologise for destroying the second half of their house, when I learned that Carlisle had changed me into_ this _in hopes that I would become a partner for his 'son', Edward, who is the first person who has blatantly refused me and made clear that he felt absolutely nothing towards me. He had not been in favour of me being turned but would clearly not turn against his monstrous father. His solution is to exclaim that I am a brattish spoiled snob and that he wants nothing to do with me. Now, there is little remaining of the house except for the outer walls._

 _As I said, it were a bad few days and I did not handle them well._

 _Moving on. The first weeks I mainly spent learning about my new body. My power and speed have increased ungodly amounts but what I truly hate are my senses. There is no rest anymore once you hear everything that happens for miles around. And I refuse to start on the endless burning in my throat and my desire to drink the blood of people. It is utterly revolting and makes me feel sick inside, yet I cannot deny that of those two sides warring the vampire wins easily. There is no contest. If an innocent toddler would walk near the house now, I would rip him to shreds and gorge on his blood and flesh._ What happened to me? _Lord above, I can't even cry anymore!_

 _There is one silver lining on the hellish months past. I got my revenge on Royce. I went to murder all his friends who were present that night. One by one. One each night. In the end, Royce must have been soiling himself when he locked himself with two bodyguards a sort of vault. I killed those too when they tried to shoot me. Being bulletproof is convenient. Snapped their necks, since I couldn't risk them bleeding. I did not want to ever lower myself like that and fully turn into this monster. Yet for a few moments, I enjoyed being a monster. Dear sweet Roycie was lying on the ground, crying and drunk_ –ofcourse- _when he was begging and whimpering. I had worn a brides dress, for the dramatic effect. Then, I tortured him to his death. For four hours long I broke every bone in his body I could find without killing him prematurely. As dawn arrived, I had had my fun and I snapped his neck to be done with it, even if I wanted to withhold such mercy from him._

 _Carlisle expressed his disagreement with my actions fiercer than I expected, but in the end he did not stop me. I suspect he still feels guilty over my completely unwanted transformation and as such could not refuse me ending my murderers. Esme kept herself outside of it and Edward seemed to be against it as well, though he did say he understood and actually fought Carlisle on it. He did not want to see those human monsters slip away unpunished either but he was against taking lives, almost tormented by the thought. I do not quite understand him and I care not to try. Vain I might be, but his dismissal of me still hurt._

 _The antagonists of the fairytale are dead and the Cullens are moving away from Rochester. Their time was up and all those murders had attracted to much attention to risk. Carlisle has invited me -victim-turned-monster- to come along and I have agreed. Not that I am particularly fond of the man. It will be a long time before that can happen, like with Edward. At this moment Esme is the only one I am somewhat friendly with. But I must look at reality. I cannot return home. Seeing my parents, little Robert and Thomas or Vera and little Henry would put them in indescribable danger of meeting a horrible fate and I have no one else. I doubt many other vampires will be so courteous towards a newborn without a specific talent as this family will. I have nothing either, baring a few sentimental trinkets that I managed to recover, like this unused diary. Roaming eternity alone and poor and end up as a wild murdering monster doesn't strike me as a desirable fate._

 _Esme described it as a new chance at life. But I have never wanted a new chance, and this isn't one either. My life is already over. What this is, is being robbed of my death. A Grimm tale indeed._

 _Rosalie Lilian Hale_

* * *

 _5_ _th_ _of January – 1934; entry 2_

 _It has been a good six months since my previous entry so I let myself write another time in here. Vampire senses allow me to see the world in a wholly different way, but the wonder and exciting distraction of seeing so much more fades swiftly to the dull reality of a monotone existence. I only want to write the more important things in here. If I must spent eternity like this, I will undoubtedly get more than enough materials to work with. I hope. The thought of such a dreary grey existence would be fearful. The world creeps on slowly and steadily, but we never will._

 _We have moved to a nice house on the edge of the Tennessee mountains. The closest town is Gatlinburg and is a whiles away. There is more wilderness here and less people. Edward and I are both pleased with this. We have more freedom and it is a relief indeed. The strain was becoming heavy. The freedom to simply run around or be outside when we want to is a great gift, as immature and wild as it may sound. A pity I will never be able to return to the city that I used to love. But it is mainly the lack of people around here for miles and miles that lessens our eternal burning._

 _Mentioning Edward, our attitudes towards each other have improved! Another slight relief, I must confess though I would never say it out loud. Not that it matters. To Edward my thoughts are as if I speak them out loud. We spent a month haughtily ignoring each other until Esme had had enough. We started talking more and whilst we still feel nothing towards each other (especially not romantically, perish the thought!), we have both found it relieving to have an equal to talk to sometimes. He is an older sibling, despite being younger in age, and he shares his love for the piano and music in general. I do not delude myself though. We are a far cry from a sibling bond and I doubt we well ever have that. Neither of us seems to desire that. It is more like being alone together. We both prefer to be alone, but sometimes we talk without being bothered by the constricting sweetness of Esme and Carlisle. They are nice, I suppose, but their utter love and adoration makes me want to flee the house. In envy or in despair, I do not know. Probably both._

 _As for Carlisle and Esme, they are surprisingly compassionate for what I feared such creatures to be. Carlisle is perhaps the single most compassionate being that exists, always on and on about helping and saving and forgiving. Still, it is impossible to disrespect him. After many months, my control has finally improved in such a manner that I can carefully begin to be around humans again but I cannot comprehend how Carlisle went through this alone and is around human blood with such ease. It's almost strange how different humans appear now. Eight months ago, I was still human, but now I cannot help but think of myself as fully different than those beings. Partially responsible are my fading memories of humanity. Only a few memories are still complete but most have all but faded to a blur, compared to the perfect memory I possess now. My family are names from a long past with voices and faces twisted as through dirty glass._

 _Edward confessed that shortly before they moved to Rochester he had lived a few years on his own as an act of rebelling, feeding on human criminals. The taste was a sinful bliss, but the guilt of taking lives and playing god wore him down until he couldn't take it anymore and returned to Carlisle. He has a sense of bitterness at this existence that I share. Common ground, if you will. What had me most disturbed was his 'talent' of mindreading, though I begin to understand that it can be just as much of a curse. He is forced to listen to everyone's thoughts, no matter how small or infuriating they may be. Including my scathing remarks. Still, he is apparently grateful for my company. He has secluded himself for years in an attempt to have some rest in his head, but the lack of equal company began to wear him down._

 _We also talked briefly about the Volturi and the option of committing suicide there has given me serious thought. The main reason why I cast that notion aside was because I would never want to be so weak as to go out in such a fate. For I am still loathing this hellish existence, but committing suicide is unthinkable. This undead life holds nothing for me. It is merely a delay until the inevitable. Also, I don't particularly like what I hear of them, though I understand they may be necessary. Another topic we discussed were partners, or 'mates' as they were referred to. Carlisle and Esme obviously were, and their deep love reminded me about Vera's. Edward had not yet met his. I had no hope regarding this, though not feeling so alone would be nice for a change. I still spent nearly all time on my own, after all, and I cannot help but fall into bitterness and darker thoughts, as of late. Perhaps finding my own mate would stop me from going down such a path. It would be a nice change from all the horror of the past year._

 _Forgetting my own family has made accepting Carlisle, Esme and Edward as my new family somewhat easier. But while they do their best, I still feel distant to them. I hope they will accept me in time as well but I don't know if I will be capable of that in the first place. They are still nice hosts who allow me, a vaguely familiar guest to stay, but it does not feel closer than that. We have agreed that I pose as Carlisle's younger sister. Given our blonde hair, it is not illogical, though I was bothered by being addressed as Rosalie Cullen, rather than my own name. But it is a small sacrifice to make._

 _If I am grateful for one thing, it is that Carlisle's way of drinking animal blood spares me from ever having to take a human life. The red eyes have changed to amber now. It has made looking into the mirror easier once more. I had missed that._

 _Rosalie Lilian Hale_

* * *

 _26_ _th_ _of March – 1935; entry 3_

 _A year has passed, and something tremendous has passed! I have found my mate! I have not felt such hope in… well, as long as I can remember really. I find myself to be incredibly nervous at this opportunity, afraid I will somehow miss it, but thrilled at this chance as well. His name is Emmet. I found him in the mountain range while on a hunting trip. Ironically for him, he was also on a hunting trip, but turned from hunter to hunted when a black bear mauled him. Originally, I had planned to just kill the bear and disappear, or perhaps laying him near a road for help. Despite my two years of growing control, I cannot be around human blood yet, only enough to flee away from it. But when I looked at him, I- I just couldn't leave him there. He was dying, no doubt, and there was something about him that I could not place, but that urged me to change him. I suppose I was not thinking clearly._

 _I had brought him back to the house, more than an hour of careful carrying. An hour without daring to draw breath. I fear if I did, I might have eased his passing by draining him. Carlisle did it for me. He asked if I was certain, and I begged him. He seemed shaken by that, and wasted no time. He attempted to use painkillers, but the venom had spread swifter and rendered I useless. I sat by his side for three days and nights attempting to comfort him, useless as it was. But he could recall me being there during his torturous trek through Tartarus, so I supposed it helped a little._

 _As much as my thoughts were on my mate and the new way my life was heading – away from loneliness and despair, I hoped, I felt a twinge of pity for Edward. My two years like this had felt bitter and long. How he must have felt after twenty years, I cannot guess. I felt the urge to apologise to him for it, and he was surprised and mollified when I actually did it. It might have to do with the fact that it was the first apology I had given him. How typical of me to never apologise for his trashed room, but to ask forgiveness for something outside my power. While he is brooding again, he assured me that he does not blame me, is happy for me and that it might be nice to have both a brother and a sister. It is in moments like these, that I really am fond of him._

 _Back to Emmet, he is learning to hunt now with Edward. I wanted to do it myself first, but I relented that Edward was the safer option. If a human came close, I had difficulties myself and had to leave as soon as possible. While hunting, I do not think I could turn away. We are always careful with our locations. But Emmet… he is both newborn, and ridiculously strong in combination. Edwards talent and control are needed here. Emmet seemed to like Edward. Not that that is surprising. Emmet seems to like_ everyone.

 _Even Carlisle is stunned by Emmet's easy acceptance of what he is, who we are, and what we have done to him. He only sulked for a moment when he found out he could no longer be around his family. He comes from a large workers family on the edge of Gatlinburg. He and his older brothers worked on laying train rails, and his sisters were younger and helped in the house. He was often in the woods to hunt game and bring some more food to the table. But he said that he had been stupid with the bear, and we had given him a chance for a second life. It makes me feel somewhat humbled, that he has accepted more and acted more mature in a day than I have in two years. Especially given that he is little more than a way too powerful child. The upside is that I am relieved. I would not know how to help him if he had reacted similar to me._

 _I truly hope that it can work out between the two of us. He is a chance for me to get out of the deep pit of despair and darkness and see the light again. Though it will take much time on my part, I fear._

 _Rosalie Lilian Hale_

* * *

 _13_ _th_ _of April – 1935; entry 4_

 _I have grown closer with Emmet but I have been plagued by creeping doubt and confusion. We share a lot of time together and feel a bond, but I don't quite know how to proceed. I am certain that if I asked him to bed he would respond enthusiastically, but I do not feel ready for that! Even cuddling feels… awkward sometimes, though a simple hug is something I enjoy, which is more than I would allow any other – even Esme. Am I not ready yet for physical contact? Is there something wrong with our bond?_

 _I have approached Carlisle on this and he was very pleased that I asked him freely for advice, though he hid it well under the mask of professionalism. He explained that nearly every bond is unique. While most would indeed lust for each in a frantic amount, especially as soon as they recognised each other as mates, that is not set rule. Every bond is unique after all, and he and Esme had taken much longer than usual as well. It had taken Esme a while to come to accept this life and Carlisle, and the loss of her child after her failed attempt at suicide. They had gradually fallen in love. Carlisle theorised that we acted slightly different in regard to our vampiric instincts due to our diet, and that I could still suffer from the lingering effects of the raping squealing fucker (no, he did not say it like that…). As such, me being hesitant to form a close bond to anyone, let alone into physical territory was not unlikely._

 _I had already thought most of this myself, but it is nice to have a confirmation. I feel abnormal enough as it is._

 _Emmet is a good listener when he is not acting like a monkey so we often just talk for hours, recalling and comparing what we remember of our human lives and what we hope for in the future. We might not be ready for romance yet, but I have no doubt that will come soon enough. For now, I am happy in the knowledge that I have gained a true friend who will never leave me and that in time, I'll have a partner who will be perfect for me, and who I will be perfect for. I like the sound of that._

 _Rosalie_

* * *

 _13_ _th_ _of May – 1935; entry 5_

 _I have left the Cullens. I have left Emmet. I am sitting alone, in what used to be a forest but is now an apocalyptic scene of death and destruction. Yet levelling a square mile of wilderness to splinters with thunderous crashing force has done nothing to relieve me of my pain and seething rage. I am struggling to write this, as not to pulverise this pen._

 _I shall recall the event that brought me here. if only for the recording's sake. Our short time in Tennessee had been nice, but was up. Emmet needed a different location, for one. We left for Alaska, towards Denali. Carlisle knew another coven there, who shared our diet. Edward had met them once before and was not looking forward to it. Apparently one of their members called Tanya –a blonde thousand year old_ bitch _\- had been infatuated by him but he felt nothing towards her. Emmet spent the entire trip goading Edward by questioning his sexuality. He had perfected the art of annoying us and it was amusing – as long as you were not the recipient._

 _I was… excited to meet other vampires. I understand that most of them retain nothing of their humanity and I despise those. But others who share a similar lifestyle as Carlisle… I greatly looked forward to it, despite my usual self-instilled solitude. Perhaps Emmet had opened me up? I did miss social contact after all. I was a person who wilted without people to interact with, an individual shaped by my parents to flourish when showered with attention and admiration, like a sunflower needs golden rays. The past two years had weighed heavily on me. I was not fit for this existence, not good enough, where lifetimes of isolation where rule rather than exception. I was in hopes that Emmet, a person incapable of ignoring me or allow me to ignore him, would be a relief in this._

 _I should have learned by now that hope is futile and traitorous when you are cursed like us. For every hope I had since that night on the cold cobblestone had been killed then and there._

 _We arrived and pleasantries where exchanged and all seemed to go well. They were curious to Emmet and I as recent additions as well, it seemed. The coven consists out of five vampires. Three sisters of almost a millennium old and a couple of Carmen and Eleazar. The latter actually used to be in the Volturi guard! But no matter. It only dawned upon me that Emmet was awfully quiet for his usual behaviour, so I looked around and I saw him_ staring _at the blonde, who was staring back in the same manner. Not even staring could come close as a description or any word in any language I know, but Emmet stared at her like a blind man who saw the sun for the first time. Then, they dashed in each other's arms and began kissing feverishly._

 _I didn't understand. Probably didn't want to, clinging on to my fantasy in desperation to deny reality. My second clue was the looks of agonising raw pity that some of the others send me. Carlisle. Esme. Edward most of all. My insides felt like ice, cracking and exploding under the pressure of the nervosity eating me up inside. I was unable to keep my voice even when I called for Emmet, too scared of the answer I already knew but refused to accept. Too stubborn, as always. When I understood, I seemed I had no insides anymore, but only a big gaping hole of something important missing in my chest. He turned around, seemingly only now realising I was present as well, and his visage morphed from pure bliss to one of surprise and fear. The blonde bitch looked at me as well and simply sneered :_

" _He is mine"_

 _I don't quite recall in what manner or how long I roared and screamed – a lie of course. This existence doesn't allow forgetting. I even tried to fight her in an attempt to keep Emmet, my bit of hope and my buoy in the ocean of despair. I was pathetic. She toyed with me, cracking my limbs with ease. The only reason I didn't die is when the others pulled her off. Edward dragged me away, tried to calm me and explain. I broke down in front of him in the dirt. He understood I needed to leave for a while. He offered to come along, but I am I no state for social contact._

 _I had an uncertain hope for two months before it was torn down again. I suppose I was a fool for believing that something so good would stay. Fate is a cruel bitch and I am an experiment extraordinaire of hers. Never have I felt so lost before, so purposeless, so empty._

 _R.L.H._

* * *

 _4_ _th_ _of October – 1936; entry 6_

 _It's been a while. A year and a half and most of it passed in a blur. I no longer feel like a shipwreck that has been violently destroyed by a cruel storm. Now I just feel like I'm the empty remaining carcass of it, stranded on a misty beach. Especially empty. I don't feel much as of late. There's always the eternal intense burn of course but apart from that everything seems to have dulled, only faintly gnawing at the background._

 _Apart from me wallowing in self-pity like a pathetic child, I have recently rejoined the Cullen family. Carlisle, Esme and even Edward were all overjoyed to see me again. I did not react much, but it felt... nice. Edward has been most helpful. We often just sit in silence reading or even on rare days playing the piano together. Not much talk is needed, but he understands better than Carlisle or Esme what I'm experiencing. Sometimes we even manage to make each forget that we're miserable together. Still, he is a broody person and that will never change. I wonder how long we will be alone._

 _We have recently moved to an area called Hoquiam. It is south of a little town called Forks – and whoever came up with such a name? It is about the rainiest place in the entire US. The ever present blanket of thick clouds mirrors how I feel perfectly, but it is quite enjoyable to be able to go out during the day whenever we want and not be afraid of discovery. The rain though, not so much._

 _I've also found a somewhat odd house. It seems small but is surprisingly big in the inside and has an old beauty in it. It's a shame its abandoned and its remarkable how easily it is overlooked. I found it entirely by accident and none have otherwise shown up. It's a bit dark on the inside but very calm. I have found myself going there several times now as it is the most silent and relaxing place in the vicinity. There are odd things about it though, that I can't point down. There is… something about it. I can't place it but a sense of mystery shrouds it like a gentle mist._

 _On another note : Emmet apparently misses us and has tried to get to me several times. He's feeling awful, or so the others say. Guilty. Even the blonde bitch wants to apologise. I loathe it, I loathe them, but I do miss Emmet. We both felt some kind of connection after all and my anger has since long faded into a dull bothersome throb. Perhaps next time they come I'll try to talk to him._

 _R.L.H._

* * *

 _26_ _th_ _of March – 1937; entry 7_

 _Two things to mention this time. I'll begin with the good news for once. Emmet and I have reconciled, in a sense. I've always been stubborn and my grudges are no less, but he really wasn't at fault here. Would I not have been excited to meet my mate? I can't blame him, nor do I wish my loneliness upon him. Tanya and I are still like ice towards each other. She views me as a threat to her mate, and I hold a grudge against her. Still, we agreed to keep out of each other's way for the sake of keeping the peace. I can tell that that was no small relief to the others. Emmet even went down on his knees, promptly invented a few new deities and started thanking them profusely. Typical._

 _The downside is that we apparently are not alone. In a nearby reserve are Quileute natives living and to make it grand, some of them can change into the shape of a huge supernatural wolf, powerful enough to threaten us. We have by far the numerical advantage though, as there are only three of them left. Carlisle managed to broker a peace treaty and the wolves surprisingly enough agreed to it. Our 'diet' was new to them and while the loathing towards us was unmistakable (I return it – their stench alone warrants it) a glimmer of respect was present out of sympathy for our daily struggle._

 _It did nearly break down to a fight though… they only listened because we were with six against three. Emmet being obviously eager did not help either. Edward kept his gift a secret as a precaution, though he could read their minds even as wolves. These werewolves… they're nothing like the myths portray them to be. Then again, am I not the proof of such inaccuracies?_

 _I've wondered if there are many other supernatural races or effects in the world but I was disappointed. Carlisle let me know that the Volturi hunted down what little was left centuries ago. Either it is extinct, or negligible. Perhaps I'll see some of those remains one day? I certainly have the time, I suppose…_

 _Rosalie Hale-Cullen_

* * *

 _15_ _th_ _of June – 1937; entry 8_

 _I found out more about this fascinating house. It belonged to a family named "Black" and was built around 1580. There is a family named 'Black' on the reserve, but I doubt it is more than a coincidence. No smell in here is even remotely comparable. No, the smells are old but not stale. There is something ever so slightly energetic about this place. A power long waned and forgotten, but still left in all the magnificence of its ruin. And for a ruin from 1580 it is in a remarkable good state. Too good, almost. My senses tell me none have entered this place in many years yet it has not much dust or damage. It only has darkened._

 _Then again, I do not know if I can trust my senses in this place. I've actually measured everything and something in it just makes no sense. There is a space manipulation at work here that goes beyond clever illusions. It is all very subtle, but the influences are unmistakably the more I think about them. It is definitely bigger on the inside than it should, there are 3 rooms too much in it and sometimes even an entire floor. Even stranger is that Edward has not approached me a single time about this all, even he should be at least interested. I know he should have heard my thoughts… it's like the house has a power of stealth over the mind so that it is kept out of mind and out of questionability._

 _Perhaps I think too much on this. As I repeat : it's very subtle and mostly unrecognizable. Perhaps the house simply wants to keep his secrets. As excited as I am in the possibility of unlocking those (Excited? It's been a long time since I felt like that…) I am content with it as a sanctuary. Inside it is calming. Just a slight bit, but I'll take whatever comfort I can as to not feel so… empty and moody all the time. It's strangely uplifting to have this as a "secret". A personal relaxing sanctuary. "Cool", Emmet would call it. It's one of those new words of his. I bet people will stop using it within the year. It means mildly cold Emmet._

 _Rosalie_

* * *

 _9_ _th_ _of September – 1950; entry 19_

 _Two new vampires have joined our family. It's been the first truly notable thing happening to our family since we left Hoquiam/Forks and the house of Black, twelve years ago. I miss its strange presence. But back to the newcomers : their names are Alice and Jasper Whitlock and are straight-up the weirdest couple I have ever met, even to vampire standards._

 _Alice is a teensy small girl with short black hair and an unnatural cheerfulness. How can such a small thing have so much energy? I don't understand it. Perhaps she was changed while having a sugar rush or on drugs? I suppose we'll never know, just like her because she can't remember anything of her human past. I'm conflicted about how I feel towards that. It is a burden for which she has my sympathy, but I am somewhat jealous; I would like to forget some parts of my past. I banish the tempting thought immediately. Royce shouldn't get away with it from anywhere. That would mean forgetting about my family as well, and those memories are far too hazy already._

 _Jasper is the opposite. Tall, blonde, silent, dangerous and with a past he would be all too eager to forget. After Carlisle he is now the oldest since he was changed during the civil war, only to be dragged in the newborn wars in the south. His skill as a soldier and his ability helped him survive, but his generous collection of scars sets me on edge. It's instinctual. He seems to like us and we're apparently "the largest group of vampires he's ever met that don't want to kill him". Lovely. It's not like he pretends he could be here for any other reason than his Alice. At least he is honest on that front. He seems to like the idea of living of off animal blood but struggles heavily with the change. I get the feeling that it is to reduce his own guilt rather than that he actually cares about ethics and human lives. Still, he tries, even if I fear there could be many 'incidents' in the near future. Edward has had many, even if nearly all were before my time. Esme has failed, Emmet has failed, even teensy little Alice has failed. So far Carlisle and I are the only one who have never drunk human blood._

 _It is something I take great pride in, by the way. I may loath this existence, but I've never given into the temptation of killing humans. I've never forced my nature on others. Well, aside from the occasional bunch of serial rapists. Those are necks I don't spare. … as in broken necks. Just so we're clear. Not biting. Breaking._

 _Speaking of abilities, the level of privacy went from small to non-existent instantly, skipping even pathetic on the way. Alice can see the future based on your decisions and likes to let everyone know about them. She literally tells your secrets before you have them. I mean really… At least Jasper keeps his senses to himself, even if they are as invasive as Edward's by sensing your emotions. He can even manipulate them, which is even more invasive then Edward. At least he can't change you and keeps most things to himself. The downside is that Major here is affected by the emotions he feels._

 _Naturally, he's avoiding me a lot and sticking to Alice. "You have remarkably little emotion beyond sadness, bitterness and anger." Way to compliment a woman, major. I suppose it was fair turnabout though, because I commented earlier that he thus depends upon Alice's happiness like a drug. My social skills are not as refined as they used to be. Or perhaps it is because I am caring less and less every year about everything._

 _What has been bothering me is that I'm even more ignored than usual, what with all the attention going towards the shiny new additions. I know that sounds vain of me, but is noticing me every once in a while in a positive sense beyond what is required for introductions really that much to ask? I feel as if I have just drifted further away from the others. As distant as I am to them, I know I need to belong somewhere. Staying truly alone for the rest of my existence is no option._

 _But I shouldn't worry. After all, I have three vampires of Christmas past now, who can accurately describe my bitterness in past, present and future…_

 _Rosalie Hale_

* * *

 _12_ _th_ _of September – 1950; entry 20_

 _Search for family in Rochester._

 _As I write this, I have fulfilled my recent purpose but have concluded it with great sadness. For three days I had I purpose again. That and much more was once again stolen from me._

 _The pressure of the new vampires in our family caused me to leave momentarily. I felt like a stranger, watching from the sidelines and needed some time alone to be myself and looking into personal matters. The others were almost surprised at the marvellous concept of me wanting to keep those things to myself. Only Edward knows, but he won't spill. Privacy, what a ridiculous notion it becomes with being a vampire. Something that I noticed since long is how much I have slowly shifted in my identification as a vampire. Long has my denial lasted, but now, when I look at humans, I can't help but look at them as different. Human. Such a familiar word, with such an alien feeling. It is strange how these things change._

 _I wanted to find out what has become of my birth family now that I was no longer an uncontrolled danger, so I went to Rochester and did some digging. The results were painful. No, not painful. Painful doesn't quite cover it. I did not know I could care or feel in such an amount again._

 _Vera is dead, as is her husband. A car crash. Instant death. Their son -Henry- was working a carpenter job, like his late father. Little was left from the cute toddler in the man with tired eyes. I discreetly moved some money to an account for him. It might be the only thing I can ever do for Vera ever again._

 _Thomas and Robert, my two little brothers had an even worse fate. They died in the war, far from home and were dumped in some local grave. I couldn't find were, only that it was near England. Perhaps I'll search there one day. Mother is dead too. Lung infection._

 _All that remained was my father Howard, who was stuck in the most solitary and lonely bed in a long term hospital. I couldn't help it. I knew it was the worst idea possible, that so much could go wrong, but I still did it._

 _I visited him._

 _At night of course. I am a vampire. The first few hours he was just sleeping and I looked at him. I had remembered him as a strong and tall man, but now he looked so weak and fragile as if he was ancient thin glass that would break under a breeze of fresh air. His breath and heart were ragged. So ragged I didn't realise the signs when it changed. He sucked air in sharply and looked straight at me with fear and tears in his eyes._

" _R- Ro- Ros-ie? Issit really you?" he whispered._

 _I nodded. His shoulders shook and he sobbed his dry tears._

" _am so sorr- ry." He heaved._

 _I wanted to say lots of things. Good and bad. But I only ever said three words that night. "I forgive you."_

 _He shook more, but I am sure that one of those sounds was a choked laugh._

" _Stay?" he whispered._

 _I nodded again. We just stayed in shared silence that night, each to their own bottled memories which were uncorked by the presence of the other. Just at the dawn his heart gave a final thump and then decide that it had been a good end as the room silenced with the departing of death, who came to collect another soul._

 _Once again, I feel hollow. Like someone punched through me and tore out my stomach. But I know that somewhere deep inside, in my grief is a note of happiness that I could comfort at least one of them in the end. Even if now, I am the last Hale._

 _Rosalie Lilian Hale_

* * *

 _1_ _st_ _of August – 1980; entry 64_

 _This is going to sound extremely weird, but I just have to say it : I feel happy! I don't understand it. Nothing of note has happened around here that could have caused me any changed feeling (or any feelings at all) but since yesterday I have just felt… lighter. Easier. As if something has gone incredibly right and I can't help but walk around with a constant easy smile. I have yet to make a single scathing remark too and am even friendly to the rest. Needless they say, they are completely creeped out and look like I might explode any second. Although they also seem jubilant at my temporary change in mood. Especially Jasper seems grateful for the sudden lack of anger and present giddiness. Alice doesn't question it, but only said "finally!" (whatever that meant) and Carlisle and Esme seem proud. Edward and Emmet are completely frightened though._

 _No idea why._

 _Not that I am too optimistic. I can already feel myself slipping back in my sarcastic self but still… it is an odd feeling, this lightness. I think I like it._

 _Rosalie Lilian Hale_

* * *

Rosalie looked up from the little old book. Most of her writing was dramatic and depressing, just how she remembered it. Still, it was good that she had written down most of what she still knew from her human memories in the beginning. Nearly all had faded. The one bit that _had_ surprised her was the note from 1980. It was indeed an oddly happy day, the likes she had barely ever known. Not that it mattered. The fact that it stood out, only because she was happy for a day, spoke volumes about the eternal weight of her life, and how it had hollowly dredged on since 1950. 48 years now, and a single happy day stood out.

Truly depressing.

Though she had to reconsider this with all the new notes she had just written down. They had come back to Forks and to she had been immensely relieved and pleased that the ancient house of Black was still standing there, as mysterious and unperturbed as ever. Rapidly, it had become her home away from home. And still no one else had found it. they had asked her a few months ago where she always went, but didn't ask through after she simply answered "out". She was sure that the house had, in some shape accepted her and protected that knowledge to it and her from others somehow. Even Alice had never come close which was very unlike her.

And with the recent events of the last year, she had been in that house a LOT. What with Edward finding his, mate, finally.

She had been happy for him. Honestly, she was. Of all people, he had been alone so long and he truly deserved it. She was happy for him. She simply didn't think his mate was anything remotely close to a sane choice.

She was human, for starters. But they couldn't change her quickly, as Volturi law stated. She knew. It was a risk, even if Rosalie could agree with the fact that Bella Swan would not likely spill their secret. Jasper was under immense pressure. His home which had been a safe haven, a sanctuary away from the burning hell of temptation that were called 'the school grounds' was gone because the little human spent all time in there! Not to mention she was Edwards singer, for crying out loud! How could that possibly end well?!

And there was the slight fact that she simply didn't like Bella. She was plain in everything. She was meek and unremarkable. Her common sense was heavily damaged, while her sense for caution was all-together missing. Yes, she was better than most school girls like Mallory or Stanley but since when was that an achievement? Rosalie simply couldn't understand how Edward and her could connect on an emotional level, or have anything in common beyond the talent for staying in a room and reading books. How was there any passion in that relationship? Edward was not exactly lively and she was entirely… passionless. Had they found common ground in their passionlessness?

And then the whole leaving town part, Bella becoming unstable, and downright suicidal and half of them nearly dying in Volterra? She felt guilty for her misinterpretation which sent Edward there but still… she had always said Bella was dangerous and here was the proof. The James debacle, the mutts rising up again, watched by the Volturi and a crazy vampire trying to kill her… the girl wasn't a magnet for trouble. She had her own gravitational centre for it.

And still she wanted to become like them. Rosalie snorted. She would regret it, she knew. She hoped not, but it seemed inevitable.

Then, she perked up. The others would be coming home soon and she took that as a sign to leave back to her own house. Quickly she ran through the thick green forest, smiling as she approached it but came to a screeching halt when she discovered a most unpleasant surprise in the front.

A car was parked there. She could hear the people talking, something about legal matters of the house. She considered the option of just buying it –it would be worth it- but that would be impossible without the owner. Some names were mentioned and an inheritance. A long discussion followed between the men, but in the end everything seemed solved. Rosalie stood frozen in shock behind a tree.

The house had just been checked out and somebody would move in here in a few days. Her world seemed to come crashing down as this too was now lost too her. She sprinted away, not caring where she went, too seething too try and cry. She had never been fond of other humans since she became a vampire, but it had been since 1933 since she had been so tempted to kill somebody. She would find the little shit that would waltz in here like he owned the place. And she would make sure that the house became hers again. No matter the cost, she swore.

* * *

 ** _17_ _th_ _August – 1998_**

Edward was worried. Not for Bella this time (untrue – he _always_ worried for her) but for a family member way too often overlooked. Rosalie. She had always been distant, preferring solitude with regularity but as of late, she had withdrawn even further than she ever had. He barely saw her anymore, come to think of it. In the mornings when they went to school. In school. When they went back to the house. Sometimes when she left her room to go out wandering again. They always used to hunt together, but when was the last time they did that? Months ago, and that was an exception… in truth, he felt rather guilty over it all. Focusing on Bella as both his singer and a new mate took a lot, but had he really started to forget her so much? It was not a pleasant thought considering all they had were each other for many decades…

"What is affecting you so?" Everyone looked at Jasper with curiosity. "You worry about something, but I do not understand. What troubles you so?"

Edward sighed and answered. "Rosalie."

Esme shifted nervously and Carlisle spoke. "What of her Edward? Was there a new difficulty between her and Bella?"

"No. Look around. She is the only one not present. The question is… when _is_ she? When has she last been home with any of us? Actually at home with several of us, not just holed up in her room or the garage? She has withdrawn more than she ever has and I worry for her" He said frustrated.

"She feels alone. It is not something any of us can change, I think. All of us are mated by now and she feels left out. She has never been an open person, but it is affecting her far harder than even she realises" Jasper answered with some difficulty. He didn't like spoiling what little privacy there was in this family.

"When has all of this started to worsen till such direness?" Carlisle wondered sadly.

"Since Bella." Said Alice dully, without her usual chipper voice. "I love Bella Edward, so no offense, but her coming into the family and our family focusing so quickly and so much on her is what Rosalie paid the price for."

Edward nodded, not in the mood to argue. He knew she was right. None of this was Bella's fault of course and Rosalie was not the most considerate towards her at all, but in comparison to Rosalie who had been a member of the family since the start, Bella was lavished in attention. Given all the new challenges her humanity brought along, it was not that hard to understand Rosalie's less than stellar opinion of her - even if she was too harsh. Then again, was she not harshest with herself?

"Has anyone hunted with her lately? Or even done anything with her beyond greetings?" Carlisle asked disappointed at his family and himself. The others were still as statue-like as ever, but still shifted guiltily. Emmet had been most of his time online with Tanya, Jasper and Alice had been in their own world, Edward was naturally busy with Bella and with precious little time Carlisle had not spent in the hospital he cherished with Esme.

Rosalie had no one to spend her time with.

"I guess she also feels guilty for the whole Italy situation. It was her misinterpretation that led Edward to the Volturi, and Bella and me… She was quite torn up from it. She feels as if she brought the dangerous side of attention onto us from Italy -"

" – which was always her argument against Bella. Rosalie is consistent. It would make sense if that caused her to distance herself further away from us. In a sense, she might feel as if she has failed the rest of us."

"But she hasn't! It was a grievous mistake, but no bad came from it! And she apologised to Bella immediately after, didn't she? Can we not mend this?" Esme expressed herself morosely.

"I fear it won't be that easy. But we must. We owe her that much."

"But that still won't change the fundamental problem doesn't it? The fact that she is alone! I think you all underestimate her bond to all of us. If she didn't feel towards us as true family, she would've left long ago. Seeing everyone with a mate is just painful for her! Let's not delude ourselves. As soon as we cheer her up or try to, we soon start to do our cutesy stuff with our mates and she will feel even worse." Emmet shouted out, no longer keeping calm. Out of everyone, he had the closest bond with Rosalie. Edward had spent the longest with her, and the rest were fond of her but the bond between Emmet and her had been genuinely strong enough to be felt when he was a human still. One of friendship, a sibling bond from the start, but still a bond.

"Alice?"

"I know her mate exists, I'm sure of it, but I can't see anything in Rosalie's future with someone else…" She tried to convince herself and others. Then she suddenly went stiff as her eyes were far away. When she returned with her mind to the anxious present living room she looked frightened.

"Rosalie needs us! NOW!" she shrieked and everyone sprinted out after her in the inky black night.

* * *

Rosalie had been walking around aimlessly in the thick green bush, still furious but mainly sad now after her latest loss. Night had fallen but the cold didn't bother her. She idly thought it was very cold for a night in August, even for Forks. And it seemed the get colder with the second, nearly freezing. She ignored it and kept thinking, slowly becoming more desperate in her thoughts. It was then, when heard a soft crack that she looked towards a small pool nearby and noticed to her great confusion that it had been frozen shut. Ice covered it and mist was everywhere. What was happening? This wasn't normal. She gave an involuntary shiver.

It set her on edge. A vampire never shivers. Yet here she was. It was with a great dread that Rosalie realised she truly felt frozen and cold that she slowly turned her gaze towards the dark mist over the ice and felt her eyes going wide at what it revealed.

A dark presence was eerily floating in the mist, ever so agonizingly slow creeping towards her. It looked like a ragged filthy black cloak was worn by some legless humanoid shape but it was too large, too silent and definitely too frightening to be anything humane. The thing radiated terror, fear and despair like an ancient sleepless malice. It was a manifestation of something so terrible, so vile and so malicious that she could not find any description for it. It was then that she realised how utterly terrified she was and how drained, how weak she felt. She was literally frozen in fear and cold and terror. She could not remember ever being so weak and so afraid. A voice in her head became louder and she paled when the haunting voices were as loud and clear as if they were truly present.

"Look at her, boys. Isn't she pretty?"

"I don't know, she has too many clothes on!"

"Royce please no, let me go!"

"Spare the rod, spoil the child hehe!"

The dark hooded being suddenly appeared in front of her and grabbed her by her throat, lifting her up with a slow ease that betrayed an inhuman strength that she currently lacked. She kicked and screamed but it nothing to her attacker. Worse, he began to show more excitement. Under the hood there was a black void where a face should have been. Rosalie struggled with all her might, trying to fight against the rough voices around her but felt like she was fighting an ocean freezing around her. She did not want to know what horror the hood contained. What ungodly wrongness it would inflict. But it slowly loomed over her, making her feel sicker with the second as if it wanted to kiss her.

Just when all hope seemed lost she felt the creatures' grip slack an lessen as she was dropped to the ground unceremoniously. But her heart soared when she heard the shrieks, as horrible as they were. And suddenly it was no longer dark. The light was blinding, but pure and happy, rolling over her in waves of gentle warmth. The centre of the aura was shaped like a magnificent great stag, as if it were a spirit from the ancient forest. Behind it, the light was linked to something else, the source - whatever that was. Two green dots were reflecting the light back but the harsh light made it nearly impossible at seeing any other defining features.

The foul creature gave off a last ear-splitting shriek and fled as the light lessened and the deer slowly traipsed back to the other side before waning into the nothing. Or, not nothing. Two spots of bright green, almost glowing like emerald eyes kept looking at her. Was that still the deer? Then, her family burst out from the foliage behind her. As she stared with wide eyes to the place the light had disappeared, she could form one coherent thought. _'what the fuck was that'._ Edward didn't even admonish it, as he usually did, but was staring at the same silent inky dark spot now, while the rest kept fretting around her. She was certain she had heard an odd popping sound before that silence settled.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Firstly, I've been made aware that all of this sounds overly dramatic. It is. But the way I see it is that the Cullen's lives, and in particular Rosalie's was until that point very monotonous or just straight up depressing. Rosalie strongly dislikes what she is and cannot help but focus on everything she lost in one way or another, these outtakes of her diary are a personal way of expressing that a bit, where she can show or tell things that she wouldn't tell anybody. And the focus on that she's alone... well, it was her great dream to have a husband and family, no? Seeing eventually everyone have someone except her weighs on her.

Harry isn't going to be an all-powerful master of death. I going to try and write him as I see him in the books. Naturally, cool stuff gets added with him being MoD, but he is essentially a (powerful and talented) teenager with issues and to some extent, an neglected child soldier. He has never really known normality so letting someone in is going to be a struggle. I'll try not to involve too much angst though. This chapter already had way more than enough of it. But both backstories include a lot of drama that shaped their characters, so prepare for some feels in the next chapter to. And at last, this is my first attempt at writing romance. I try to write something because the attempt interests me, really not much more.

Sadly, writing really isn't my priority among sporting, studying, social life and the whole drill. Frequent updates are not really my thing, so consider this a note of honesty.

PS: I love reviews. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chpt 2: The Boy Who Lived Forever

The war is over and a crippled Harry Potter ends up in Forks. The plan is to live alone and heal while learning to deal with the rest of his wrecked life. Having an obsessive scary blonde vampire chase him wasn't part of the plan. Disabled!MoD!Harry

* * *

 **Warning :** some clear mentions of violent deaths, though not _too_ explicit. Should I change it to M?

 **Note 1 :** And I want to thank every follow or favourite. Didn't expect it to blow up this quickly. You guys Rock!

 **Note 2 :** Just read the terrible news of Alan Rickman's passing. It's been quite the month already. First Lemmy Kilmister from Motörhead, who I had the privilege of seeing live in the past summer – one of his last performances (though I am admittedly not a big fan, he's still an icon). Then David Bowie, who as an artist, both in music and beyond was a very great inspiration and now Alan Rickman, who of course is a giant of the screen and stage and needs no explaining here.

All three British artists, all three died to cancer and all three were 69 or only a few days 70. I would say rest softly but that doesn't seem appropriate. None of those three were soft people. They were lively, and lived their passion. So may their next great adventure be one were they continue to do so.

 **Note 3 :** Writing was hard lately, since I've broken my collarbone in an accident with my bike – of course the side on my writing hand. It's really frustrating, but I'm thankful I didn't hit my head. Constant Vigilance people, bad luck can strike at any given time – usually when you least expect it.

Anyway, here is a huge chapter for you lot. Seriously, it's the largest thing I've ever written as a chapter. About 18K words.

* * *

 **The Great Pursuit**

 **Chapter Two : The Boy Who Lived Forever**

 **2** **nd** **of May - 1998**

"Dumbledore is DEAD!" Voldemort hurled the words with great strength towards Harry, as if he expected them to hurt him greatly.

"Yes, yes he is. But if you had cared to actually listen to Ollivander, you would have long realised that it doesn't matter whether he died or lived that night to that bloody wand. He had already been defeated by someone. The wands loyalty had already shifted before he was killed!"

"I already defeated Severus Snape tonight, Harry Potter. He can no longer be the owner of this wand."

"You don't listen do you? He never was! He killed Albus Dumbledore on Dumbledore's own wish! Even if someone else had not already disarmed him – something he hadn't foreseen – he would have died as the final master of that wand. After all, he would thus have died undefeated, and the wand would have no new master to continue the line. But that plan failed, because the wizard who disarmed him before that, was Draco Malfoy!"

Voldemort actually looked surprised for a brief moment, probably thinking about how the answer to his search had been at his beck and call so easily. He schooled his features again. "Thank you for illuminating that particular mystery then, Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy will die right after you then-"

"Why thanking me for solving that _Riddle_ , Tom? It doesn't matter – I defeated Draco weeks ago during our escape from that manor. The only question that remains is whether that wand in your hand knows that little fact. Because if it knows, that means I'm its rightful master… and thus the master of the elder wand."

Voldemort bristled at the use of his birth name and seemed to grip the wand just a bit tighter than his usual fine pencil-like hold. Both fighters were circling each other slowly in the rubble. So slowly it could not be called walking. They were poles that simply couldn't stand standing perfectly still, both chasing the other at an agonizingly slow pace, not allowing an inch of distance between the two to change.

The great hall was perhaps the only hall truly standing on the ground levels. All other people, student or follower, stood still, barely breathing. No one had it in their minds to fight, to do anything else than watch in an amazed horror towards the two key figures in this long and bloody war as they held their final conversation with a veneer of calmness, serenity… civility almost. It could have been a calm discussion between two tense colleagues but everyone knew it would result in the death of one. No longer could the true confrontation be postponed. They were the silence now, and soon, with one terrible last lightning stroke of a storm it would all end, for better or worse.

"Do you truly believe as such, Harry Potter? I wonder… I will grant that it was a plan that simply reeks of the old man. It is right up his alley, to die undefeated for his greater good, humble but guiding and removing the bad stick from the naughty children!" Voldemort mocked. He laughed loudly and high and a more terrible sound could not be imagined by those around him. So cruel was his laugh, dripping with malice that it seemed a statement. That even something so innocent and happy as a laugh could be made into such a terrible, frightening thing. Harry couldn't resist a shiver. Voldemort continued.

"By my count, you have now survived seven encounters of mine. Seven times… a truly magical number. The most powerful of all. Twice you have survived my curse. But you know what they say… three's the charm, is it not?" Voldemort spoke, seemingly curious himself.

"Seven encounters I survived, Tom. Seven of you are no more… Wouldn't you agree that such things aren't coincidences?" Harry returned.

"You don't know of what you speak, child! I fully understand that you have divulged and destroyed my greatest secrets, but you cannot have defeated seven. After all, I am still here… and so I shall remain forever." Voldemort sneered lowly, informing him as if it were a great boon to be treated as such.

"'Marked as his equal'. You marking me, made me like one of yours, Tom. It is not me that you killed tonight, Tom. It was yourself." Harry said, his tone final.

Voldemort's hand trembled now and his eyes widened a fraction from the reptile, cold alien slits they were. "It doesn't matter Potter! You still stand no chance against my magic. Against I, Lord Voldemort who has unravelled mysteries of magic, both good and evil that we never knew about! I have done things no one _dared. AND I SUCCEEDED!"_ he screamed, as furious as the storm. As suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a calmness that seemed far more frightening than his rage. But a hateful insanity remained burning deep in his red eyes.

"I must admit, Harry Potter, that you have truly proven yourself as a worthy opponent. I dare say, the most worthy of all I have opposed. Many people died for you, and often you had luck but the odds stacked against you were heavier. Never did you cower before me… and for your limits you performed admirably. Truly a child of a prophecy. You have proven I was right in my choice, but now your hero's story is at its inevitability. I shall not let your tale be forgotten, this I promise" and to everyone's shock, Voldemort actually applauded by clapping his hands ever so softly thrice.

"And I must admit you have been skilful in everything surrounding your rise, Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son of a muggle seduced by a near-squib with a love potion, born to a muggle orphanage. And still you managed to manipulate all the rich and powerful into following you. You manipulated them in hating a scapegoat and willingly follow you as you rose, and dominated them by fear. You pulled a very great trick, Tom. You created slaves out of those who had power and put those who perceived themselves as better beneath you, as you did with all others. And those who did not agree were removed. For we both know that you do not truly care about blood. You yourself are proof of its rubbish. You ended more old pureblood families than anyone has ever done. All you ever wanted, was a throne." Harry ranted as many around him gasped by the revelations.

Riddle hissed as his red eyes turned to glaring slits, promising pain and retribution for the reminding slight. Then he laughed, cackling. "I gave you a hint of weakness by complimenting you and you used it without hesitation to strike! You saw power and you seized it! Even in your doom, you poisoned my reign and I! Ultimately, we are not so different, you and I. You have become a clever man, Potter. A shame you never saw reason. 'A man's greatness is measured by his enemies.' A genuine compliment, I believe – perhaps to the both of us. Savour it, for it shall be your last." Voldemort grinned menacing.

"We are completely different, Tom. It is not our abilities that define us, it is our choices. But I belief I owe you something genuine for the compliment. So I shall give a piece of advice : Show some remorse." Harry asked, nearly pleaded at the end.

" _What?"_ asked Voldemort, stunned. Nothing, no taunts or revelations, nothing had shocked him as much as this.

"Show some remorse for your own deeds. I have seen what you will become and it's not pretty. Just try Tom, just try… It may very well be your last chance." Harry said with a look that almost resembled pity.

Voldemort gave no answer anymore. As wolves they continued to circle each other, ready to tear into each other at a moment's notice. Everyone seemed to know the final moment had come. Burning eyes of green and red stared into each other, as their bearers loosened spells of red and green, opposites until the end with all their power.

"Expelliarmus!"=================================O================================="Avada Kedavra!"

Two overcharged spells of raw magic crashed into each other in the middle with a devastating power. The sickly green curse returned as the red bolt won and both came crashing into the man that was only a mortal known as Tom Riddle once more, but such things were lost to the onslaught of magical energy that erupted and crashed violently into both.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes. Or so he thought. He waved his hand in front of his face but could barely see the outline. He accidentally touched his eyelids carefully to ascertain that they were open, for all he saw was pitch black darkness. It was cold and silent. No wind, no sound, no nothing. Even the air seemed empty dry ice. There was nothing, except the solid base he lay on.

Slowly, on touch he felt the –floor?- he was laying on. It was flawlessly smooth, hard and cold and as black as all else. He couldn't even see the difference on any side beyond the blackness. Had he gone blind? Or wait, no! There he could definitely see something! Harry squinted his eyes as he stared at long lines, ever so vaguely illuminated far above him. As he tried to stand up and he became more used to his surroundings, he saw more and more thin lines, everywhere around him, some even seemed close by… With lacking literally anything else to do he observed it and touched it _very carefully._ To his surprise, the line was warm and… twitching? As if it was shuddering in the wind that was not there and suddenly, it broke. The two ends jumped apart and slowly disappeared in the nothingness.

Harry stared in fascination. What was this place? Did all the dead end up in such an empty vastness filled with cold, dark and the threads of what looked like an enormous spiderweb? It would be just his luck if that spider would find him very soon… though _something_ happening would be preferable to this literal nothingness. It nibbled on his nerves. Ten minutes in and he already detested the place.

"Hello again, Harry" said a familiar voice behind him. He spun around and was relieved to see it was Dumbledore in all his familiarity. Soft white robes, his long beard and hair neatly combed and standing tall without the weight of carrying a society on his shoulders.

"Headmaster. I suppose I've really done myself in this time, haven't I?" Harry said, tired. _He_ _felt tired._

Dumbledore peered at him through his half-moon shaped glasses and simply hummed as a response.

"Where do you think you –we- are now?"

"It's not the same place as before. Last time it was a limbo… the white king's cross station. A station with the train going forward or back again. But this… this is no station, is it?"

Dumbledore continued humming merrily, his head nodding on an unheard tune.

"Sir… If it's all happening in my head, can this be real at the same time?" Harry asked the other, throwing back Dumbledore's final words of their last conversation only an hour ago.

He got the odd feeling that Dumbledore simply _radiated_ amusement, but the old headmaster had a perfectly neutral look on his face. No benign smile, no customary twinkle… nothing. Dumbledore had never quite seemed so dead. So lifeless.

"You are not Dumbledore." Harry said, wary.

"I am not Dumbledore." Agreed a voice in a rattled melody from somewhere... else. The old headmaster simply looked at Harry and the aura shifted slightly.

"Then don't play tricks on me, and show your true self" Harry said slowly.

"As you wish" Dumbledore disappeared instantly, leaving only darkness around him. Harry desperately wished he could have his wand in the strange place. He felt many eyes upon him, but not in the conventional sense. As if a the entire space itself was _aware_ of him. But the surface remained empty and no one reappeared.

"I am not playing tricks on you and show you my true self" the voice rattled dryly. Harry knew he was being mocked and toyed with. The scary part was not knowing _what_ it was that was using him as amusement.

"Give me my name and I shall appear" the presence stated grandly.

"Give you – _your_ name? How can I know your name?" Harry asked dumbfounded.

"Make me tell my name without asking it. Say my name without the person." the presence returned.

"How do I do that?"

"By asking the right question. Only one question"

Harry was thinking in circles. How could he do that? Ask the voice a single question? There was no answer in the silence. The voice would not give up so easily. What if it didn't have a name? He had a sneaky suspicion though…

"Are you alive, or dead?" Harry asked, his voice shaky.

"I am death" the presence confirmed. Harry heard a soft wind _woosh_ behind him. Slowly he turned around and he saw a sight that would haunt him forever. Harry felt the blood in his veins freeze when he saw the tall person that had appeared. Long robes clothed it and flowed over the floor. The garment was of a material or state that couldn't be described. Liquid shadows taking a solid form was the best Harry could come up with. There was no dramatic skull or deadly scythe though. Instead, it showed half the face of a –woman?- who was as nondescriptly as possible. Nothing gave away any origins or naturalness, and her white skin, white hair and empty white eye were unnerving, even though they were posed expressionless. He could even stretch it to 'not unkind'. The other side however, was an empty skull that grinned hollowly at him. The border between the two was unclear. It was strict as a line, yet it was not. Harry could not describe it, but only stare.

"Anubis, Thanatos, Mandos, Mors, Marcaria, Melione, Hel… I have so many names that your people gave me… But the only one that holds true is Death. Death has no name. Death simply is."

"So, are you saying you are not really a person? That that form you have now is just a representation?

"You understand more by now. I am just as much this shape as I am the floor on which you stand…" Harry suddenly become very aware that he was literally standing on someone. "Everything here _is_ me. Do you think it is air, that you are breathing?"

Harry felt utterly violated with those last words and barely resisted to urge to retch. It was useless. How do you get the air out of your lungs? Harry felt sickened and it showed.

"Most who hear that would either try to attack me at this point, weep or attempt to tear out their lungs." Death said with a hint of… approval? Curiosity?

"The third option sounded quite tempting."

"I noticed." Death mocked. "But you need not worry. While this is very real, it is all happening inside your head after all. But let us continue. What do you think of my humble little abode here?"

"It is not quite what I expected. Where is _here_ even? Is this like, a pocket dimension or something, on a completely different plane or reality?"

Death stared at him for a moment. "Vaguely correct, I suppose. I am death, this is my realm and this destination can only be reached by dying" Death said before returning a question. "Tell me Harry Potter, what do you think these threads are?"

Harry didn't think calling Death the universe's creepiest spider was a particularly good idea so merely shrugged.

"Do you know the expression 'hanging on life by a thread'? Well, it is true, technically speaking."

Harry's knees felt weak when he understood the implications. Death simply continued while grabbing a nearby line closer with one skeletal finger. "Oh yes, all of these threads are lives. Young or old, rich or poor, beautiful or monstrous…-" Death's long nail idly cut it and a sigh seemed to whisper past Harry. "-… the world has already forgotten this one. Just like the one you broke."

Harry's knees gave out. Had he truly, just to satisfy his curiosity of ten minutes being bored, ended someone's life?

"Oh yes, yes you have." Death answered his thought way too merrily.

"Stop it! Why are you so cruel?"

"Cruel? Me? You misunderstand, Harry Potter. I am not cruel. I hardly have the capacity for your definition of it since I possess no such desires or ability to. Death simply is. It is neither good nor bad, such terms are not applicable. Death, I, simply is, am. All are born and live their cycle, when the part of the cycle ends on earth and becomes too heavy, I lighten the load and send you off to the next part. What is so cruel about that?"

"So, it is an eternal afterlife, or a whole different life?"

"Once more, I am unable to tell you. Only those who truly pass see it, for they experience it themselves. And no other could ever tell you."

"Is Dumbledore now in a good place at least? Is he at rest, or in the good way in his 'next great adventure'?"

"Albus Dumbledore committed several grave acts, but his regret, wisdom and humility have helped him find his redemption. You need not worry for him. His next great adventure is one of rest and peace."

"Thank you. And just to be sure, is Vol- ?"

"Tom Riddle has fully passed into my realm for good. Nothing ties him to the plane of the living anymore."

Harry couldn't help but be curious. "What will happen to him?" If the pathetic little thing he saw in his 'first death' it looked bad.

"He shall reap what he sow. Pain and suffering."

Harry nodded. Death seemed… fair.

"But we have other business of fates to discuss, Harry Potter. Yours."

Harry gave a small shudder. "Well, I died. This is where I'm judged now, isn't it?"

"No."

"I underst- wait, what?"

"On this place, the plane of life-threads, the cosmic cube, whichever you wish to call it… Here, the dead do not come, judged or not."

"Please, speak clearly."

"Very well Harry Potter. You have died, but I cannot take you beyond, to where you should be. Like so many myths, your myth of the 'Master Of Death' contained some truth. You have died, yet you have not. By uniting the three hallows you have become the most unique case in the history of the universe."

"So, I'm what? This Master of death? What would that mean? That I would be your master?"

" _Do not presume such things, boy. You have exactly as much control over me as anyone else ever had, and that is none!"_ Death hissed coldly. Harry stumbled back, reminded to just how tiny he was as the power in the voice rattled his bones with the sharpness of icy spears. He barely resisted the urge the check if he was still whole."

"Your death has been mastered, in that you are your master of your own death. I suppose meeting me here partially sealed this fate. Or not. I am not aware. You are partially out of my touch. Your thread… has become ungraspable to me. It still is here… somewhere on this plane. I know that. But I, nor mine, can't affect it anymore."

"So I can _choose_ my own death now? I can just choose when to die?"

"I do not know. You are the only one who's death is an unknown to me. But you are always welcome to try."

"Well, then I choose to die now!" Harry shouted. But nothing changed in the silence that followed. Harry slumped down again and Death too seemed a twinge disappointed.

"So I'm what now? Immortal?"

"If true genuine immortality can exist, than you have probably earned it now."

"I HAVEN'T EARNED ANYTHING! THE ONLY THING I THINK I EARNED BY NOW IS A NORMAL DEATH AND TO SEE EVERYONE ELSE IN THE BLOODY NEXT GREAT ADVENTURE!"

Death let him rage, and almost sounded sad when she spoke again. "I cannot help you in this, Harry Potter. I simply am unable too. You are the first one that I cannot help."

"If I cannot die, would I even live?"

"Of course you would. Your thread is still here and it is alive. That I can no longer touch it does not mean you are not alive. Unless you are talking about the philosophical sense of the worth of your life, over which I have no say. You are an anomaly, Harry Potter. You have died, yet you never stopped being alive. You have come here, here in my very heart where none, mortal or dead have ever been able to tread. You are making your name true."

Harry looked annoyed at Death as she went on.

"Names can bear power, and such names have a habit of fulfilling a function. Voldemort – vol de mort. Flight of death. Fitting, considering my realm always was his greatest fear. To die, the way all normal folk die. And yours. Names of such bearings only appear rarely, and are always loaded with some kind of magic. Even Dumbledore never had such a moniker. And of course the true prophecy worded it correctly."

"What has that bloody stupid prophecy to do with this?"

"One cannot live while the other survives. You did not sacrifice your life in the forest. You sacrificed your death. Perhaps a greater sacrifice than anyone has ever made on personal level. But I may be based in that. After all, even I have my interests. I look forward to the day you will finally rest in my halls for good."

"So… I will die?"

"At some point, certainly. Everything has an end. You. Your world. The universe. Even I. However, I cannot touch you. I do not know when that will be. Your fate, Harry Potter, is literally in your own hands. But you will not die by conventional means. But one day… we shall greet each other-"

"- as old friends. The tale of the three brothers is not just an coincidence, is it?"

"There are no such coincidences. One who died for power, one who died for a lost love and one who greeted death as an old friend. You know of whom I speak."

"Voldemort, Snape… and I." Then Harry realised something. "Hang on… Dumbledore? Dumbledore was death? Was you?"

"Fitting, was it not? Yes, I suppose Albus Dumbledore took my role in the story, if with different intentions. He never meant for anyone to die, except for himself. His greatest strength and weakness. Yet he was right. There are far worse fates than an average death and he would not have been satisfied with Tom Riddle having an average death."

Silence fell again, but the revelations made Harry's head spin. He only had more questions.

"Will there be side effects from this? Apart from the not dying thingy?"

"Magic works in mysterious ways, as does life, the universe and everything. I am constant, yet no different in that aspect."

"Could you please not speak in riddles?"

"I cannot, for I am incapable of giving you the answer. But as you stated yourself : with your record, it is not unlikely."

"Definitely Dumbledore…" Harry muttered. "Then what _can_ you do, regarding little old me?"

"I still am the master of my own domain, Harry Potter, and I can still force unwanted intruders back from whence they came. Do not fret, you shall soon see a familiar sight once again."

Harry sighed, a tad relieved. Spending eternity back on earth was still a lot better than in this dark and deathly plane.

"Well, goodbye then, I suppose. Hopefully until not too soon again."

Death radiated amusement again as Harry vanished. She looked on for a while.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter, the boy who lived… _forever_. Until we meet again."

* * *

 **12** **th** **of May - 1998**

The first thing Harry noticed, was that everything felt so _alive_ again! He actually felt his body! The weight of his limbs, his chest expanding with each breath, the air flowing to his lungs… He could hear so much again! Constant 'tinking' sounds, shuffles, mumbling, sharp footsteps a while further on the hard stone floor. Just like the smells. And he felt the familiar texture of soft linen below and above him, as a light but comfortable pressure from the bed and blanket. There was so much of everything again, compared to the vast emptiness of the darkness Death called home. There was so much life in here! Yes. This was so much better.

The second thing was that it was still dark. But not as dark as before. A more comfortable dark, like – oh, his eyes were still shut. He carefully opened them ever so slightly and saw light. A bit more and the familiar sight of the hospital wing greeted him. Never in his life had he been happy before to wake up in this place. He was clearly in 'his' bed. He saw the few familiar cracks at the ceiling. It was the same bed he landed into every year.

Harry sighed and tried to move.

The third thing was pain. Seething, raw pain originating from his leg. What the hell? Clearly he hadn't escaped unscathed. What had happened? There was the final confrontation with Voldemort after he had thrown off his invisibility cloak, they had those words… they had both thrown their final spells at each other and they crashed into Voldemort… But then there had been that explosion. And it probably had thrown him head first into a pillar or something. Maybe some rubble landed on his leg and had broken it severely or so. It did feel a bit similar to the beginnings of skelegro…

"I can't believe it!" a voice said clearer. Nearby. And familiar. Which one was it?

"What?" a voice said morose.

"These readings, they say he should be-"

"Show me."

Ah, that last one was definitely Hermione's voice. Whatever the problem was, she'd solve it. There was a long silence. Then, Harry was startled by the raw emotion in Hermione's voice.

"I, no, these can't be- can- I don't- Har- oh I ca- Harry, c- can you hear me?" Raw, shaking, scared, uncertain. Harry tried to answer, but he only managed to produce a groan.

"Sweet Merlin." The person gasped. Harry looked a bit better. Ah, it was good old Pomfrey. He should've recognised her. Before him stood Hermione staring with wide eyes, frozen. And next to him came Ron marching, halting at his bedside and giving him a long look.

"Mate, you were dead."

"I know, in the forest, I-"

"Not that. Now! For days. At the battle, after that explosion from you-know-who, a lot of stone landed on you. But before, all that that magic that crashed into you… you were one hundred percent dead. The last victim."

"Oh. Hang on, _days_?"

"Say something. Something that proves you're truly Harry. Something only he would know." Ron said determined, pointing his wand at Harry's face.

Harry racked his brains. "In second year in the Forest, you declared your love of butterflies above spiders. In fourth year, right before the ball you begged me to kill you over the dress robe. _"Murder me, Harry"._ And in sixth year on the train ride home for Christmas, you said your lips were raw and burst after Lavender and you had gone 'counting the stars', as was your-"

"Hey, hey, that's enough you bloody wanker!" Ron stopped him. "Alright Hermione, you too. Just to be certain."

Harry looked at Hermione. "We danced." He simply said.

"Blimey Harry, sometimes you really are a massive git, you know that?" Ron said, his ears getting a bit red, but there was more of a relieved, shaky chuckle in it that actual irritation.

"Sorry, mate. Looks like Snape was right about me after all."

"Huh. Well, good to have you back mate." He said smiling, but clearly uncertain to how to proceed now. He was interrupted by a small person with a mass of brown curly hair flying by and smashing into Harry.

"Harry James Potter!" Harry and Ron winced. Three names always meant a storm was coming. "You dare you scare us like this! I really ought to just hex you and I'll-" the rest of Hermione's storm was lost as mumbles in Harry's hospital blanket, his shoulder and a lot of tears.

"Miss Granger, Get. Off. The. Patient. Now!" Madam Pomfrey screamed hysterically while casting charms in a hurry. Ron laughed, and with that, the immense tension seemed to finally flee from the window.

"Mister Potter, can you explain why you're not dead? Pomfrey asked befuddled. Harry laughed.

"Perhaps you can better first explain how I died – or not. What happened?" Hermione answered.

"Well… do you remember your final confrontation with _him_?" Harry nodded. "You two threw your spells at each other and when they hit, both turned back in Voldemort –I think your theory about you owning the wand is correct by the way- both then… he died, but the magic ran rampant and suddenly exploded. It crashed into you and if that didn't kill you, your smack against the walls could have. We tried to heal you to our best, but you were dead."

"You didn't bury me?"

"Well, we wanted too, but initially we just couldn't, I think. And after a few days, Madam Pomfrey noticed that no one had placed you under some sort of preserving or stasis charms, but your body hadn't changed at all. We did a long time off careful testing and found that there was still _something_. We don't know what or how –you were undoubtedly dead- but something was preserving you, almost. A passive kind of magic was there. Very light. I think at that point, we were just grasping at any faint hope we might have that you survived."

"Well, I think it's brilliant you did that. Otherwise, I'd have to scream from a grave now. That'd be a bit of a bother."

"When did you two dance, by the way?" Ron pitched in, clearly trying very hard not to sound a bit jealous.

"When you were away, we both weren't well. At some point in the tent we were listening to the radio and in a fit of ridiculousness, we danced a bit to get some of the tension away. It only worked briefly" Hermione explained for him. She turned back to Harry. "So what about your side?"

Harry sighed and looked pointedly towards Pomfrey, who huffed and left –though she did it with a smile. "Well, here's how it went for me."

From the moment he left them, he explained everything briefly. He didn't want to relive those things too soon and didn't know what was safe to tell. He had seen things no one was ever supposed to see after all. Would it affect his friends? But he didn't leave anything out of both his 'deaths'. Ron and Hermione shivered at his descriptions, smiled sadly at Dumbledore's words and gasped at his meeting with death. They fell silent after that for a long while until Ron couldn't resist anymore.

"So, you met death and it proves to be a girl." Ron deadpanned.

"I'd hardly call her a girl, but yea, sort of."

"And now we have irrevocable proof mate : girls are mental. Both in in life and death. So much for eternal rest…"

"Ronald, Death must have a very big responsibility! It can't be easy to-"

" _Everything in here is my body, do you think that's air you're breathing? No mista pottah, that's all meeeeeee."_ Ron imitated in a dramatic voice that eerily sounded like high-pitched Snape. Harry wheezed with laughter and Hermione gasped in offense, though there was definitely a giggle in there.

"Eh, Hermione, could you get off? My leg is starting to really hurt right now. Haven't you gotten to heal that yet?" he tried to say in good spirit, but the way the two others immediately fell silent was like alarm bells going off. He started to have a suspicion why, but refused to believe it, trying to get up but too stiff too be able too.

"Show me."

"Harry, per- perhaps it's best if-"

"Show. me."

"I'm so sorry Harry." Hermione moaned while removing his blanket.

Harry could only stare horrified and dumbfounded at the red stump that was once his lower leg.

* * *

 **15** **th** **of May - 1998**

A fragile sun was shining upon the grounds, a bit obscured by some thin morning clouds.

Harry slowly limped from stone to stone with his temporary prosthesis. With each name he read he felt an icy touch settle in his stomach, with each name he recognised he felt sicker than ever. Many of them had met their end before his eyes in the battle. The great war was over perhaps, but such an amount of death, pain and suffering would inflict grievous wounds for long years to come. No, there was nothing glorious or happy about this victory. It was no victory. They just ended up being the side who didn't lose the dominance over the country.

But they had lost. Oh so much, so many they had lost. Many students or housemates like Lavender Brown or Colin Creevey had met a cruel end. Colin came as a nasty surprise. Harry hadn't been particularly close with the excitable younger boy –his camera had annoyed him very often- but he had been eager to train in Dumbledore's Army, had proven his courage and talent in spades and had always supported Harry. A support that had led to his death when he snuck back inside the castle to fight.

Harry took a picture of himself and Colin on and gently laid it amongst the flower before the white stone. It was the only picture he had ever autographed, and ever would.

Harry sighed as he got back up slowly. His little brother Dennis probably wouldn't return. Harry couldn't blame him. Lavender, the next stone, had no siblings left behind. She met a particularly vicious end when her throat was ripped out by the filthy teeth of a half-transformed Greyback. At least the monster had met his fate soon after when a furious professor Trelawney saw one of her favourite students choke on her own blood and crushed his skull completely with one of her crystal balls. A much too quick and kind fate for the monster that had made so many victims.

Two rows further lay another victim of his, though this one had not been killed by him. Bill Weasley had been important in the war and the final battle. His knowledge of warding had made him a torment for the death eaters. When the wards finally were about to break, he forcibly collapsed them outwards. It had utterly decimated some of Voldemort's shock troops, disintegrating many dozens in seconds. It was one of the things that had probably played a major part in the hollow victory. Afterwards he had unleashed ancient magic of Egyptian tombs upon the dark forces, which most didn't know how to counter. He had fought with his head high until the end, until Voldemort killed him personally. His recent wife Fleur Delacour hadn't survived either. Her transformed Veela shape had caused many to be burned alive or have their guts ripped out by her cruel claws. Especially against vampires she had proven to be effective, her fire utterly decimating two small recruited covens. The third and last coven had managed to overpower her and Harry shuddered at the memory of her screams.

But Bill was not the only Weasley to have met their end that night. Fred, the ever-laughing good old daring Fred had not survived an exploded wall after taking out the fake minister Pius Thicknesse with Percy only hours after reconciling with him. It seemed so surreal. Fred and George had always been mentioned in one breath, one name. To have them apart seemed utterly surreal.

Next stood a person who Harry had been looking for while his stomach clenched violently and painfully looking at the name on the last stone of the row. Ron stood sullen, staring with tortured eyes to the name on the stone. It said a lot that he was here so early. Ron cherished his days where could sleep in. "Ginevra 'Ginny' Weasley" the stone said.

"Harry", he croaked.

"Ron", Harry returned.

Nothing else was said. Neither wanted to disturb the silence that hung over the tombstones. Harry's leg was hurting and he decided to try to sit, but couldn't hold back a hiss of pain when his leg buckled and he fell down. Ron didn't help him up, but merely sat down next to him. They sat for a long while until Ron couldn't bear it anymore.

"Harry, well, you've, you know – _died_."

"I don't know if I _can_ truly die anymore. But yes, I have."

"Just tell me Harry, please. Does it – does it hurt? Dying?" he begged hoarsely.

"Quicker and easier than falling asleep." Harry whispered after a few seconds of silence.

Ron just stared. "Thanks mate" he mumbled after a long while. Harry just nodded, sunken in memories about the girl he loved.

She had invented a whole new variant of the bat-bogey curse in the year they were apart. An extremely violent one, especially for death eaters where the bats no longer came out of someone's nose, but shot straight from someone's belly. And kind of ripping them apart. A testament of her talent and viciousness when she set her mind to it. It was only minutes before his final confrontation with Voldemort that Bellatrix Lestrange swept aside Hermione's and Neville's curses and managed to just hit Ginny with the dreaded green spell. Molly, howling with furious pain was too late to save her only daughter from the crazy bitch but it had been Lestrange's last success. In a duel that lasted several minutes, Lestrange was forced on the defensive and realised soon on that she would not survive the onslaught of the mother. But there was no satisfaction with her death, only the increased pain of the lives she had taken with her.

Harry tried to get up –sitting on the ground was difficult now too- but to his great frustration found himself unable to easily do so. Ron noticed and simply pulled him up. An unspoken thanks went between them.

"You going back?"

"Yes, swore a subservient oath to the tyrannical mistress of the hospital wing" Harry only half-heartedly joked.

Ron snorted. "Better make sure Pomfrey doesn't hear you or she'll fulfil that."

Harry shuddered. He was already stuck enough in bed as it was and he had no doubt Pomfrey could be a tyrant. After all, he _had_ been her most frequent patient for the last seven years.

"You?"

"I'm going to stay here for a while. George and Charlie will be here soon I suppose. Probably Percy too. The idiot still feels guilty…" his voice drifted away.

Harry nodded. Ron needed to be with his brothers, his family - what was left of it. This was something Harry had no place in, best friend and honourably mentionable family or not. If Ron needed him, he'd be able to find him. He limped back, briefly faltering when he recognised yet another two familiar names on those white stones. Reluctantly he shook himself and continued back to the hospital wing. He had run empty for the moment, and those two names deserved his full attention at mourning two.

Remus and Tonks deserved nothing less.

* * *

A week later things had slowly progressed. The news that Harry was back amongst the living was a small shock, but one everyone seemed happy to have after all the death. The amount of well-wishers seemed endless, though most weren't allowed to enter. The rest of the Weasleys hugged him to death, of course, almost crushing his remaining limbs. Many schoolmates, including slytherins came to thank him.

One of the more surprising visits was of the Malfoys. Draco apologised. Very briefly of course. Actually he only said two things. He thanked him for saving his life, and said he might have been wrong. Harry needed a lot of restraint not to chew him out. Narcissa Malfoy seemed even more torn between pride and guilt, but was 'happy that he survived', and 'grateful for helping Draco'. Harry didn't express his thanks for what she did in the forest. They both knew it was only because of his answer of Draco. Had he been silent, or answered differently, she would have outed him without remorse. But he did mention what happened to Kingsley. That Draco didn't have the true will to murder despite his acts, and Narcissa's act. It was a saving grace that kept them out of Azkaban. Lucius had no such help. Their name however, was utterly ruined – something Harry felt a vindictive bit of satisfaction about. Last he heard they had to emigrate to France, to another branch of the family.

He had a new prosthetic foot. It wasn't like Moody's crude bonking foot. This one was a more elegant contraption made of smooth dark wood and shiny silver steel. A whole slew of charms had been bestowed upon it, to help him keep his balance, to lessen the pain, but it brought no miracles. Harry could walk around decently, probably even run a bit in an emergency, but it still limited and hurt him significantly. It was still a far cry from an actual limb.

Then the golden trio decided to have a long talk on how to get on.

"We wanted to discuss how what we're going to do now. I need to go to Australia. My parents are there somewhere without their proper memories. I need to find them" Hermione opened.

"I'll go with her. I just need to get out of here for a while, and I don't like the idea of one of us travelling to the other side of the world alone right now. Harry said softly.

"I can't. I'm needed here. Harry, Hermione, I'm sorry but with my current family situation… I can't leave them. I can't." Ron said morosely."

"It's okay Ron, we already expected that. The problem is, are you going to be okay? Do we need to stay here for a short while longer with you?" Hermione asked gently.

"No. Hermione, of all of us, you're the only one who can regain some family. Go for them and don't waste stupid time here. And Harry going with you is better. I have people here. None of you must be alone right now. Don't let each other be alone." Ron stated determined, his tone brooking no argument. I was odd and disconcerting to the other two to see their usually goofy friend so serious, wise even, but they all knew that the old Ron wouldn't reappear for a long while. No one was themselves right now, their own selves included.

"But no dancing this time, you hear me?" Ron tried to declare sternly, but failed miserably. Everyone laughed, but it sounded hollow to Harry. Desperate.

It took a couple of days of planning and deciding (Hermione had predictably already done most of it). She wanted to go by muggle plane, but they both agreed an international portkey was faster, safer and easier. Kingsley, as temporary new minister of magic made no fuss and kept it official, but out of attention. Harry was grateful for that, he didn't want a legion of people following him around or awaiting him.

Many goodbye's and tears and "see-you-soon's" later, they felt the familiar tug at their navels and spun around over the world. colours flashed in a crazy, angry storm around them and the wind seemed to tear them apart, but not a hair of his moved out of place. It was definitely the longest one Harry had ever been on, until they fell and he landed without grace on his butt, as usual. This time though, it was accompanied with a blinding stab of searing pain, like someone stuck a hot knife in his lower leg towards his knee, and slowly tore it back out. Hermione yelped when she saw his expression, wrung in pain as Harry gasped for breath. Slowly the stab lessened and the fire diminished, though it never really left. The constant ache had never really left, not even when resting.

"Portkey of eighteen hours, London to Sydney, has arrived." A voice said besides them while Hermione helped Harry up. The worker barely looked up, obviously sulking in his boring job. "Please proceed to the main desk for registration and other legal issues. It's to your right. Other legal issues and questions for foreigners can be discussed there." He went on in a monotone voice. "Have a nice day" he finished unconvincingly.

The Australian ministry was very different in style compared to the English one. More wood and rock, with strange glowing lines and patterns everywhere. He wondered what they were for, beyond looking pretty.

"Based on classic aboriginal magic, and to honour their native designs. They're used for communication, wards and navigation in here." Hermione told Harry who smiled lightly. Of course she would know the reasons of design in an Australian Ministry of Magic. Her spark that hungered for learning and information may have been dimmed during the war, but it was still there. She would heal.

A short registration later and Harry and Hermione walked into a pleasant evening sun, close to the grand bay. Sydney's entire magical centre was built around the Ministry, to avoid having to build multiple hidden locations.

"Soooo, what now?"

"Tomorrow we go to a muggle registration office to hopefully find out where they live now. Then, we'll travel there, I'll undo the spell and hopefully it'll all go without a fuss."

"Relax Hermione. Let's find some sleeping arrangements first. Looking at a flyer Harry grabbed earlier, they decided to spent the night at "the Bellyful Billywig", apparently Sydney's equivalent of the Leaky Cauldron.

"One room for two please. Two beds, single night. Preferably without too many stairs first."

"O'course! An'thing else I c'n getcha?" the big barkeep said in good spirits, not letting Harry's lack of cheeriness influence him.

"Dinner now and breakfast ready at eight. Oh, and a map of the muggle centre, if you have such a thing?"

"Food's not-a problem, no! But fo'the maps, you gotta go back, ask for'em at the ministerial desk!"

"Thank you." Harry finished, taking the key and managed to get to the room without further problems. He sat down on the bed with a sigh. The charms were still a bit scrambled from the long portkey travel so his leg really needed some rest.

"It was lively downstairs. Felt odd, no?"

"Yes. I suppose we got used to seeing the cauldron and everything else so dreary and empty. It's weird, isn't it?"

"A bit."

"How is your leg?"

"s'fine. Just needs some rest. Really."

"Lay down for a while and don't overdo it yet. I'll go get a map, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Before Harry could protest, she had already gone. She was right though, he'd better rest a bit. Minutes later, she was back and went to study her new paper treasure. Dinner was brought to their rooms and they ate in silence. Neither wanted to get in bed early though, until it was past midnight and Hermione's reasoning won out over her fear. Harry slipped nervously in the realm of Morpheus, afraid of what horrors the night would bring.

They were at Malfoy manor and the dark dungeon was oppressive and closing in on them. Ron's pale face shook with fear and fury as they heard the insane cackles and shouts of Bellatrix Lestrange upstairs. Then, cutting through bone and marrow were Hermione's frantic screams of pain and anguish. They seemed awfully close…-

Harry woke up in a swift movement, grabbing his wand and pointing it ready to cast. He cursed. It wasn't an intruder, but Hermione screaming in the bed next to his, controlled by her nightmare. Harry thought fast.

"Aguamenti!" he casted and Hermione sputtered awake. Frantically looking and mumbling before grabbing Harry and hugging him, sobbing for a long time. Harry couldn't see her tears between the water he conjured, nor did he want to. He had seem them enough already.

"The manor?"

"Yes."

"It's been destroyed Hermione. And the bitch is dead. No one is going to hurt you anymore." He swore, sighing. It would be a long night.

The morning after they were eager to get out of the overly happy tavern. No sense in wasting any more time. Using a cab, they quickly found their official destination, where they encountered a new enemy : a stuck up lady who seemed to get delight out of refusing them to help. She was so infuriatingly annoying, so condescending that he was close to comparing her with Umbridge, though Umbridge had been a slimy toad, and this seemed more like a shrivelled dry lizard with far too much mean pointy ends. Yes, she was _that_ annoying.

"Can you please try to invent something a bit more realistically? Come one, dearies, I know you can. Aren't you two supposed to be school? Or are you some of those slackers who bother the hard-working people?" she simpered. Harry was tempted to take his leg off and literal beat some sense in the woman. Even Hermione was clearly losing her calm, though it seemed more controlled by fear.

"I told you miss, I'm looking for my parents. Their names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins. If you can just tell me where they live, I could see them again." Hermione sighed.

"But your name isn't Wilkins, so you are not their daughter! No no, this is clearly an attempt at something unsavoury, isn't it? Why don't you tell me? Or do I need to call the police?" It was all said with a malevolent grin too. Merlin, she was frustrating!

"Please, just tell me where-" Hermione was near begging but the magicless clone of Umbridge had no mercy, or was deaf.

"They ought to put you two in some kind of stricter school, that's what! Teach you to have some manners. Puh. Clearly you must have had some poor parents dear, who did no proper job in raising you."

"Just tell us and we'll be out of your hair, ma'am." Harry attempted. He subtly used a very, _very,_ light charm. The lady grumbled and Hermione seemed about to lose herself in a panic until the bitch caved.

"Fine, fine, I'll just search 'em up. Let's see… They're in Melbourne. Local police can help you further. Now scram!" she snapped, annoyed that she had lost this quarrel.

Harry took Hermione by the arm and led her away. They walked in silence, each to their own thoughts until Hermione spoke.

"You used a compulsion charm, didn't you?"

"Only extremely light. I motivated the feeling that if she gave us _something_ , she'd be rid of us. It was too light to be of any issue." Harry defended himself. He supposed that he did need to justify himself. After all, it was technically a tiny bit illegal to use compulsion charms. But he didn't worry about it. It was so light that it could not have forced her to do anything substantially against her morals and that it couldn't be detected anymore in a matter of hours. Also -while he loathe to use the system like that- it was 'only' an unimportant muggle and not for nefarious means. So even if the authorities knew, no one would care.

"Thank you. I think if I had attempted to cast it I would have been closer to using a blasting curse on her face." Hermione said easily.

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" Harry wondered, quoting Ron.

"Oh hush it, you. Let's get on, I don't like staying here any longer than necessary."

Harry agreed. Australia was, no matter the time, too hot. Hogwarts had always been his true home and he had come to accept the cooler, rougher Scottish climate as part of it. He could never live here. His leg was itching far more often and harder too and cooling charms only helped so much. A few hours later, he sighed in satisfaction of the air conditioning system to make it bearable. The landscape was nicer without the feeling it was burning him. Hermione was reading on Tasmania, which housed in incredible amount of magical creatures. It would perhaps be worth exploring one day.

Twelve hours, the train ride was. Twelve boring hours with a tense Hermione who couldn't be calmed down. Once in Melbourne it was the same search all over again, until they found a small police office somewhere. To their immense relief, the police officer here turned out to be an older, overweight person who was very friendly and helpful.

"Lookie here, they're in Healesville, that's roight outsoide of town! Look here… here… and here you can get a bus – or a cab to it. And… -here- is the roight street, innit difficult kid! Got a mate that lives there too, it's noice if you loike city but need sum greenery nearby."

They thanked him profusely which made the older man smile broadly. Ashton, as was his name, had a bit of a lonely life. Unmarried, not much family left and stuck in an utterly depressive small windowless office with no particular close friends. Not much had remained of his childhood dream to help people as a brave hero, and he had accepted the bitter reality of being stuck here for another ten years until he had to leave and retire. Seeing those two teenagers so utterly relieved, so thankful was filling Ashton with pride. It would keep him going for another couple of weeks at least! It were small things like that, that kept people going. And they were looking to reunite a family! Lost, and they would now be happy again! Ashton whistled a tune during his break, and for a brief moment, he felt like a true hero.

Hermione was growing tenser with the second and was actually shaking during the cab ride. They walked until they stood still in front of the house Ashton had directed them too. It was a nice house, Harry thought. Simple, with lots of white paint and wood. Bigger than he would have expected for two people, but he knew they were dentists. Perhaps they had their practice in the house too. Then, the door opened and Harry saw a confused woman with pale green eyes greet them.

"Hello, can we help you?"

Harry waited for Hermione to speak, but he only heard a dull thud. Hermione had actually fainted.

"Oh my, is she alright?"

"I'm sorry to ask this, but could she lie down for a moment Mrs Gra-.. Wilkins?"

"Of course, bring her in – do you need help?"

"Don't worry, I can – no, on second thought, I do need some help."

"I'll get my husband – just lay her on the couch for now, perhaps."

Harry bit back a sigh of annoyance. He was not terribly tall or strong at all, but he _could_ carry Hermione. Or at least, he _should_ be able too. _Were it not for that damned leg_. Better to accept help rather than trip and needing help too. Unless… Hermione's mother had gone to the back to get her husband. No one was on the street. In a quick move, he got out his wand and muttered _"Locomotor Hermione"_. He calmly levitated her inside and on the coach, just as he heard her parents come back in.

"Holy… What's going on here?" the man said. Hermione's father showed a lot of resemblance with his daughter. Brown bushy hair and beard, even though an effort had been made to shape the hair, and the same brown eyes. It was her size and facial features that she shared with her mother.

Harry decided that now was the time to showcase his smooth talking.

"Please sir, allow me to explain. I'm Harry Potter, this is Hermione Granger. Your daughter. It seems she was a bit over-excited in seeing you two."

Okay, not so smooth perhaps.

"I know, I know, this sounds utterly crazy, but I'm only a friend accompanying her here from Britain because I didn't want to see her go off alone across the world. She can explain it all much better. It'll make sense, I promise."

"I'm sorry lad, but I think you've got the wrong house… we never had children."

"Why not? You've been married for nearly twenty years, I think."

Mr. and Mrs Granger-turned-Wilkins looked at each other, seemingly in wonder. Probably as to how strange he was.

Harry decided it was better Hermione woke up before her parents got annoyed with him and threw them out, thinking it was a scam.

" _Rennervate"_ Harry whispered. Hermione groaned.

"Hermione, you need to wake up. You need to talk with your parents and explain to them why you're their daughter because they probably think I'm a bloody lunatic." He said, not bothering to whisper.

She reared up and looked bewildered at her parents. Then she used her wand in a complicated pattern while muttering several lines. Harry knew it had been a ritual she had performed. She had essentially removed all knowledge and evidence of her very existence from non-magical things and persons. Yet somehow, a normal photo Harry had, or her letters, had remained unaffected. He looked to a photo on a small desk to the side. First there were two people in it. Suddenly, there was a smaller person in the middle. Harry smiled. Magic was a wonderful thing and he could never stop being amazed by it.

Monica and Wendell Wilkins looked very hazy for a minute and then they simply stared at Hermione, in wonder, confusion and a hundred other emotions, back as Dan and Emma Granger. They seemed to want to jump towards her, yet were uncertain to do so.

"I'll take a small walk outside." He said casually, nodding to Hermione. She needed a moment with her parents alone. Harry had no place in that.

While outside, he thought a bit about the latest turn his life was taking. He was hit with a twinge of sadness and melancholy. And a slight bit of envy. Why couldn't he have had a family? Or some normal relatives? Why couldn't he have someone? Someone that was just for him… He would never blame Ron or Hermione. They had suffered greatly. He wished all the good family they could have to them. Merlin knew they needed it. But still… Ron had his family, Hermione had her parents, Neville had his grandmother and other relatives… Even tiny Teddy Lupin had his grandmother, Andromeda Black – or Tonks, depending on who you asked.

But who was there for Harry?

He had had Sirius of course, but could the handful of times they actually met or were together truly be counted? They always seemed like a brief promise. The promise that 'when all of this was over, they could be a real family.' That _next_ time, it would be for good. That was how Sirius had said it. It had seemed so right. Of course, when it came to family, nothing went right in Harry's life.

He had realised it long ago. He'd never have a true family. Ginny had been the other one. He had wanted to form his own family with her, but those were future plans. And of course, now those could never happen. He felt a bit guilty that he didn't want to think of her very often, but it just hurt too much. It was still far too fresh a wound. Harry pushed the spark of anger that had accompanied the envy away, and there was only the lament of lonely silence that remained. Harry had rarely felt as alone as he did now. Even Hermione was now finally home with her parents. Hermione who was closer to him than a sister, who he shared so many trials with, even more than with Ron…

What was he to do? Where was he to go? Harry didn't have a home. He could not very well go back to Surrey, could he? If it could be helped, he would never set a foot there again. Grimmauld Place would just haunt him, probably. Hogwarts the same… He did have enough money to buy or rent a new place he supposed. But where? How would he start on that? He couldn't very well stay in the leaky cauldron, could he? He'd be swarmed… Scrap that, he'd be swarmed anywhere. The thought depressed him.

Suddenly he was hit with a crazy idea : to leave. To go out of England. To get out of there and start from scratch. A new life, a tabula rasa in another place. He could never start really anew in the isles but outside of it? It was daring, scary and probably stupid, but it sounded enticing, exciting and plain adventurous. Had he not as a child dreamed to see other places than his cupboard or Surrey? Never had he been out of Surrey while the Dursley's went on holidays. Now was his chance!

It was in that moment, that Harry knew he already had decided. He'd just have to convince himself better yet. And Hermione. He'd have to convince her.

Which was probably far more difficult than actually moving to a different country.

* * *

It had been two weeks since he had made that decision. He'd stayed as a guest with the Grangers so far, who were nice but far too inquisitive for Harry's liking. He didn't blame them. They wanted to find out everything that had happened to their daughter in the past year, what terrible things had truly happened. They had been rightfully horrified when they saw the scar in Hermione's arm. Harry simply didn't want to talk about such things with people who were virtual strangers to him. He spent his time doing two main things.

Talking with Hermione. And thinking about his decision. He had thought about it hundreds of times now and became more and more convinced with each day. Eventually, he just blurted it out to his bushy haired friend when she was talking about the next school year.

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts."

"W-what? But… but Harry, what about your education? What about seventh year?" Hermione sputtered.

Harry snorted. "I've seen the curriculum. On the practical front we'd ace it with our practice on the road last year. The rest can easily be done by self-study. But can you imagine the looks I'll get next year Hermione? And then my current condition? Or my leg? No. I want out."

"Out of what?"

"England, I suppose. I don't know for how long yet. Perhaps a few years. But I just need a change. Where no one knows me, where I can be normal. Where the faces won't haunt me so much. I've never been more than a guest to people, in greater or lesser degree. Only Hogwarts ever felt like home, but it's still not a _real_ home, is it? Besides, I always wanted to see other places, and the Dursley's never took me on the hols. Consider it a bit of exercising some freedom that I finally have."

Hermione was silent, biting her lip nervously. "I suppose I saw it coming, somewhat. But I was hoping I'd be wrong."

"Hermione, when are you ever wrong?" Harry vented, exasperated.

They shared a laugh. "Well, I didn't have much belief in the entire 'hallows' business."

"Where will you go then?"

"No idea. I'll see. I'm going back to England for a short while first. You know, sort out Gringotts, couple of friends, ask Kingsley for advice and a pass. And hopefully be gone before anyone discovers my plans. I want to be gone before September, at the latest, and have my affairs in order. When I don't appear in Hogwarts people will start searching and the madness will ensue. I don't want to see that. No doubt people would stop me."

"I think you're right. Just… be careful Harry. Please. I know you've grown up and that you can do that but… you'll be alone. No one of us to help you with something. Are you sure you want to be alone right now? I know I can't be. No one else can."

"This entire thing with _Death_ , this… immortality… I want to be able to deal with it on my own. How can I deal with it to others if I don't even know what I am now?"

"I suppose you have a point. But we both know you have a habit of locking yourself in Harry. Thinking you must deal with everything yourself, shutting the world out… don't do it. Not again. If you need it, _talk_ with someone. If you feel you need a hug or help or advice, I don't care that you'd have to wake me at three o'clock in the morning. Do you promise Harry? That you will not shut yourself in but will socialise and talk with people, actual people?"

"I promise Hermione."

"And you will write me, you hear me!"

"Wouldn't dare dreaming of refusing!" Harry laughed.

* * *

 **14** **th** **of July - 1998**

First, Harry went to check up with Kingsley when he was back in England. He took a more private route through the ministry so the crowds wouldn't see him. Kingsley had always been nice, and Harry had no desire to cause trouble for him by skipping some legalities. And he could use the advice for Gringotts.

"Hello, Minister."

"Hello, who is-? Harry! Come in, it's good to see you again! How was your trip?" Shacklebolt said in his typical deep voice, though it brimmed with surprised happiness.

"Successful. Hermione has reunited with her parents. Don't know if they return to England or not though."

"We can't blame them. They probably have another life there by now, and with magic, the travel is not a major hindrance."

"True. Kingsley, I wanted to ask for some advice, and probably a favour."

"What do you need, Harry? Are you planning something?"

"First : I want to bring my Gringotts account back in order, but I suspect the goblins are still pissed at me for breaking down their entrance hall with a dragon. Any tips on not getting beheaded?"

"Actually, not much I can do about that. Gringotts is sovereign land. While I can reassure you that your death would spark enough outrage for a new war between goblins and wizards-" Harry snorted at the 'reassurance' "-an auror escort wouldn't help. Just be honest, implore that your intentions had nothing to do with Gringotts and that Voldemort killed many of them, and perhaps propose to buy your way out. If it exceeds your own funds, I can help a hand, but if it doesn't, I can't really justify it amongst the law."

"Alright, better than nothing. Secondly : I'm leaving Britain."

A long silence endured.

"Say _what_ , Potter?"

"You heard right."

"Why in Merlin's sake would you do that?"

"I want to try and restart my life in a normal fashion, and I won't find that here in Britain, where everyone will hound me."

"And you leave me alone to deal with this mess? As a minister? No help?"

"Guess so."

"You're a cruel brat, Potter."

"So I've heard."

"I can't convince you otherwise in any way?"

"Nope. I just came here to make sure you were aware –though I'd appreciate it mightily if you wouldn't tell _anyone_ \- and to make sure I do this mostly in the legal way. So I don't cause more problems for you."

" _Thanks_ " Kingsley said, the sarcasm in his deep voice evident. "Fine. I'll get you a visa which should work practically everywhere. I'll draw it up as post-war compensation for the victims, or something" he grumbled.

"Thanks, Kingsley. Really."

"Yeah, yea. Just make sure the goblins actually let you out in one piece so I don't do this for nothing."

* * *

Harry made a few more social calls after that one, shopped in disguise and finally went to Gringotts. The hall looked as pristine as ever, as if a dragon had never flown through. You couldn't tell. Then, the meanest looking goblin (which was quite the accomplishment, given the basic fact that goblins _always_ looked mean) marched up to him.

"You are either very brave, very stupid, or incapable of reading big lettered warnings to come in here again, mister Potter. Come. You will be brought before High King Ragnok. He will deal with you and your transgressions."

Harry saw no reason to refuse, though the goblin spears in his back might have had something to do with that. They walked through many halls and galleries, and went lower and lower until he had to sit down in a dark room, seemingly made from obsidian and illuminating jewels. And a large golden throne, with the biggest goblin on it that Harry had ever seen.

"So, Harry Potter. Tell me, why should I leave you alive after what you did? Speak."

"I make no excuse that I broke one –or probably several- of Gringotts' rules. I can only hope you see I did not do so out of greed or any malicious intention, least of all to Gringotts. I only did what I deemed necessary to destroy Voldemort."

Silence reigned for a long while until Ragnok spoke, a tad disappointed, while stroking a mighty big diamond on his sceptre.

"Well, that was quicker than I expected. Tuck away the torture tools, we won't need them for mister Potter here."

A lot of disappointed groans resounded and Harry let out a small relieved sigh.

"Now then, there is still more to this story. You spoke the truth, but there is more to it, and Gringotts must know it, to prevent it from being done again. Explain, or we'll bring the tools back."

"During my escape my Malfoy manor, we saved the goblin Griphook along with the rest of us. While we recovered, we had reasoned that one of Voldemort's artefacts that needed to be destroyed was hidden in the Lestrange Vault. With Griphook we made a deal. He wanted the sword of Godrick Gryffindor back, since it was goblin made. We wanted the Horcrux to destroy it. I agreed that if he helped us get it, I would give him the sword. In Gringotts, Hermione and Ron were under polyjuice potion, Griphook and I under an invisibility cloak. Voldemort seemed to have warned Gringotts and Griphook urged me to do something or our cover would be blown, so I used the imperius curse. With it, we managed to get to the vault until we got Death Eater hirelings and goblins behind, so we used the dragon to escape. The rest is well known." Harry said, throwing all his cards on the table with a tired feeling.

"What kind of artefact are we talking about?" Ragnok demanded harshly.

"A horcrux."

Gasps resounded around him, and the king looked uncomfortable for the very first time.

"And what of your deal? What was the plan there?"

"I was honest with my deal, though I used the formulated words carefully. I said I would give him the sword. Not when. I needed it to destroy the horcruxes. After that was done, Griphook could have it."

Silence. A small cruel chuckle started from Ragnok, until it grew into a violent roar.

"HA! Well played, mister Potter! Well played indeed. A crafty deal, yet honest. A deal a goblin would have been proud to make!"

Harry was still very unsure whether that was a good thing or not, so simply remained silent.

"Griphook didn't survive, but he betrayed his oaths. He would have been executed either way. I will be honest with you, mister Potter, as you have earned it by being honest with me. I would have liked to execute you. But the Goblin nation owes you indirectly. And unlike for wizards, honour still matters to us. Too much to justify that punishment. The dark wizard Voldemort would have subjugated us in time and destroyed Gringotts being foreign soil. Mighty warriors we are, but not fools. Even before, business had dried up, while now the gold is flowing again! And Griphook owed you his life, yet betrayed you to Gringotts. No matter what actions he had taken, he would have betrayed one of us. Turned out he betrayed both of us."

"Harry Potter, while the ways you helped our kingdom are kept in mind, your punishment cannot be shushed away. You broke into a Gringotts vault you had no rights on, deceived our workers and subjugated one of ours to the Imperius curse. You caused significant damage. You will simply have to pay for the damage."

While Harry was somewhat relieved he wouldn't be locked up in a vault for a few centuries, or fed to another dragon, he still swallowed. There had been a lot of damage…

"I don't think I have enough money for that."

"The Potter vault doesn't. But the Black vault does. To my information, it should be about two thirds of all its funds, money, jewels and objects of metals. Properties or other objects not included, though I suspect the raw money will suffice. It is the most stable conversion rate and gets this mess sorted the swiftest, rather than bother our accountants by sizing up the worth of all those other things."

"That seems fair." Harry sighed. Inwards, he was relieved. No execution! Not even broke either! Then something clicked.

"Hang on. Properties? As in multiple?"

"If manager Ripfang would please remove this judged, ignorant stain of a costumer from the throne-room and educate him in his accounts, please." Ragnok said, this time with obvious disdain.

Harry was whisked away again by another suited goblin before he could utter a 'goodbye', put down at another desk and given a large leatherbound file. Ripfang didn't seem to like him much, but no goblin ever had.

"Copy of your assets. Potter and Black vaults."

Harry read it all carefully. The Potter vault held no surprises. While fairly well off financially, and an impressive old name they had never had a lordship or anything similar. Harry didn't mind particularly much. No need for more titles or responsibilities. What was new was a bit of information about his grandparents. Apparently Charlus and Dorea Potter died a few months before his birth. The house had been completely destroyed, and the ground had been sold under standard ministerial handling. The house in Godricks Hollow was a monument and Harry refused to touch that. The amount of money wouldn't set him for life (especially now that it might be a fair bit longer…) but it would be decades before he needed to worry.

The Black files were more interesting. While they used to be Lords, some complication with Sirius dying as not-lord there was no current Lord Black. And there likely would never be again. The only possible contestants would be him or Draco, but the Malfoys were ruled out of court and Sirius' inheritance favoured Harry. But it seemed the title had ended with Orion. Perhaps Sirius had done something to end it.

They were richer than the Potters, that was certain. But it was more than Harry had expected. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him of this? _"A fair amount of galleons and Grimmauld Place 13"_ didn't quite cover this…

"Excuse me? Can I ask something?"

Ripfang glared at him, as if daring him to but nodded minuscule.

"Dumbledore told me I inherited some money and a single property in London, but never anything else… why?"

"Why would he have known? Albus Dumbledore had nothing to do with House Black and could only have known what he was informed of by someone who did." The goblin snarled annoyed.

"Thank you."

Well, that explained it… Dumbledore had simply told him what he knew Harry had received. He had not been aware there was more. Point for Dumbledore's honesty, though he still should've taken Harry to Gringotts. As he was thinking, he saw the cypher of the amount of gold plummet to almost nothing, though the jewels and all else remained the same. Ragnok had kept his word. Harry knew the goblins had taken everything their costs allowed them to and not a knut less. He still had more than enough to not have to worry about money for a few decades.

The thing that mainly interested him were the other properties. The list was detailed enough and showed several homes scattered across Europe.

A classic old house hidden in the old centre of Antwerp, Belgium. Right on the town square. Nice, but too close. And he wanted some rest and quiet. He didn't know if he could find that in the centre of a port city. Besides, the town square? Talk about 'hidden'… It would be more something for Hermione to study its history.

There was a small villa in Tuscany, Italy. On the border of the 'Riserva Naturale di Berignone'. A nature reserve on the border between the towns of Sienna and Volterra. That was more like it, but he couldn't speak a word Italian. Language charms? Besides, Italy was hot, and it had bothered him enough in Australia. Perhaps for another holiday.

Then he saw something that caught his eye. A house south of Forks, Washington. _America_. He read the description. "House in the new world. Built in 1580. Status : habitable, renovation needed by reactivation of the wards." It seemed like a perfect possibility. People would still speak English, but he'd be far, far away from England. And Washington was peaceful and safe, wasn't it? No worry about wars or international conflicts. Not even a very different culture. Harry ignored Ripfang's glare as he took a nearby book with maps. Forks had miles and miles of forest around it, with nature reserves and mountains not very far away. It sounded perfect.

Harry hesitated. Could he really do this? A few weeks ago, he had never even been out of Britain, and now he would leave on his own, to live on the other side of the world, in a house he had only read about two minutes earlier. But his instincts told him it was a good choice. Almost as if he _needed_ to go there. Harry sighed, his decision long been made. His feelings had almost never steered him wrong. Only once. And that one time was the reason he had this house now…

* * *

 **20** **th** **of July - 1998**

It was evening and Minerva McGonagall had just finished eating. Most summers she spent the entirety of July in her own home, a bit hidden in the Scottish highlands. But this time, she had barely been home. Only for a week or two, to catch her breath. Much needed to be checked and done in Hogwarts and as the new headmistress she was responsible. Her age was starting to protest a bit.

She felt lighter than for most of the past year. No longer was the school controlled by Voldemort or his death eaters. No more would she hear in the coming times of students who went home but never returned by a newspaper.

And she felt heavier. Even during and after the first war, never had she had to see the burial of so many students. So many children. So many white tombstones. Minerva felt old and weary. Tired. She would go on for several more years, but she didn't think she'd still be there to see the next generation of her recent students at the school. Not to teach them, at least.

Suddenly, the wards gave off a pulse. Someone had entered the Hogwarts grounds. Fear gripped her against all logic in. But she marched to the front gates, her wand ready and pointed it straight in the face of the unwelcome visitor, who wore a very familiar pair of glasses under wild, untameable black hair.

"Who are you? What are you do- Har- _Potter?"_ McGonagall sputtered.

"Good evening professor" Harry said, smiling lightly.

"Potter, what was the first punishment I ever threatened you with?" the old witch said, not letting her wand slip an inch from his face.

"The first lesson, where you were turned into a cat. You threatened to transfigure Ron and I into watches so we would be on time next lesson. 3 seconds later, we were nearly turned into maps of the school."

"Sorry Potter, but I had to check. I deemed the habit wise here." McGonagall said relieved.

"Don't worry professor, it was a wise thing to do. May I come in?" And they walked back through the tall gates.

"What brings you here Potter? I know you've always thought of the school as a home, but I never pegged you to be the type to come seeking lessons in the summer. Even miss Granger never did that – though she tried for the other holidays. For that matter, I was not even aware you were back in the country."

Harry chuckled. "I've only been back for a few days, Professor and I kept it a bit quiet. I'm sure you understand why."

"Yes… that I understand. _The Prophet_ would have a field day on that alone."

They both went through a few halls and climbed the stairs towards the office of the headmaster, but passed it and went to McGonagall's old classroom.

"I know that come the new year I must take place in that other room as the headmistress but for now… I want to stay here for a few more weeks. It still belongs to Albus, I think."

Harry understood that. "And Snape."

She handed him a small tray with biscuits. "A bit odd that you mention him, Potter. You two were always at each other's throats."

"Oh, don't worry professor, I still loathe him. But I also know now that he deserves acknowledgment. He fulfilled Dumbledore's whish, was never on Voldemort's side and always looked out for my life… even though he tried his best to make it a living hell. All out of loyalty to my mother."

"Yes… Severus Snape was many things, but complicated stands on top. But speaking of Albus reminds me…" she stepped in a side cabinet and came out with a small chest, that she set on the desk. "This is the actual inheritance Albus left you. I don't know its full contents, but I believe that it contains his personal pensieve. It is smaller than the Hogwarts pensieve that you know, but otherwise works the same. Albus made it himself, because he wanted to be able to put it on his desk... I also believe it contains a stash of Sherbet Lemon drops."

Harry chuckled. "I don't want to became _that_ eccentric so early in life, so I'll lay off of them for the time being."

"A wise decision. I never understood his fascination with them, or candy in general." She peered over her straight glasses at him. "But now : why are you truly here?"

"First of all, I've come to tell you that you won't see me come off from the express in the coming September. I'm sorry."

A long silence reigned. "Please tell me you're joking by coming in your own way." McGonagall said weakly.

"I'm afraid not professor."

"But- but Potter, you can't just… oh oh..." She stammered. Harry felt a bit guilty. He knew she cared about him, but he didn't expect her to show it so openly. "I can't say that I'm happy with that. Why?"

"This castle, the grounds, the memories…" he gestured helplessly. "I don't think I can deal with that. Not right now. I'm tired and I want to be gone for a while. Not having it shoved in my face. Not to mention the people… You know I hate attention. It would be a nightmare."

"… well, I suppose I can't stop you... I'll miss you Potter."

"I'll miss you too, professor."

"Given that you are no longer returning here, I think you can call me Minerva now, Potter. It seems I'm no longer your professor." The last part said with tired dejection.

"You will always be my professor. But I'll try."

"What do you plan to do then? I'd say you do need some rest –especially given your circumstance…-" she glanced at his leg. "How is it?"

"Bettering. But I still hate it."

"Alastor said the same once; -but as I said: you should take enough rest, but I would be most displeased if you are going to laze around on your posterior."

"I wasn't planning too, pro- Minerva. It's actually the second thing I'm here for. To say goodbye."

"Skip the dramatics and explain, Potter."

"I'm going to leave Britain. Don't know how long. At least for a year, probably several. And it's Harry now, no?"

"You're really serious about this, aren't you? Once you had set on your course, it was always impossible to take you off of it, no matter how big the storm… Have you planned this decent, then?"

"Hermione agreed that I should do this. I'm going to live in America for the time being. There's a residence of the Blacks there, near a small town named Forks in Washington. Not many people, lots of forest, some coast and mountains and Seattle is not too far away. It sounds good."

"I suppose that sounds decent. You want anonymity, I take it?"

"Yes. Anonymity and normality. No one really knows where I'm going. I'll inform Hermione of the specifics later, same with the Weasleys. Only Kingsley and you know it in full."

"Thank you for your trust, Harry. I won't spill a word. How was your trip with miss Gr- Hermione then?"

"Good, mostly. She's got her parents back, at least. I don't know when she'll return, but I think she'll be here on September the first, at the latest."

"That's good. That's very good… It was time that we got some good family new out of the war. No one seems to have it, these days." McGonagall said with a wistful smile. "So, what will you do there?"

"I'm already past the seventh year material on some courses. I wanted to look into runes. Enchanting and warding seem very useful things. And I'm going to look into becoming an animagus. And Hermione kindofconvincedmetogotomuggleschool."

"You've chosen well then, Harry. Runes are very useful and open lots of jobs, even if you only have an owl in it. You can take those later on your own time too. And I'm very happy to hear of your plans to become an animagus. Just do it careful and controlled, no rushing on your own or I'll find you and drag you to class as a bad warning example by your ear. But I didn't understand your last part."

"Hermione convinced me to go to muggle school."

Utter silence. Then McGonagall began to laugh, open and loud. Harry's expression, which held the middle between a pout and bewilderment may have had something to do with that. She wheezed before growing calm again, but she didn't lose her smile. "Well Harry, it's not that bad an idea. You will be living in the muggle world after all, and you're familiar with it. And at least you'll talk to _some_ people your age. I don't like the idea of you becoming an eccentric forest hermit. That wouldn't suit you at all."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Professor… can I take Buckbeak with me?"

McGonagall seemed surprised. "Why?"

"It seems… appropriate. Buckbeak and I already have a bond of sorts, and now that neither Hagrid or Sirius can care for him… and technically he is still sentenced to death."

"Can't go without _some_ danger, can you? I suppose you can if you want – there are more hippogriff's for the lessons. Just let Kingsley know so you don't have issues about importing him. And it's Minerva, Harry."

"The habit was deemed wise here… Minerva."

"Cheeky brat." She said, but without any sternness.

"And what happens to Fang?"

"Fang has grown into Hogwarts. Take him out of it, and he'll be dead in a matter of days. He's old, and if Hagrid doesn't return, I don't think he'll live much longer anyway… He misses him. As do I. Don't worry about Fang. I'm taking care of him. These old bones can use the company sometimes."

They continued to talk for another hour. Harry knew that he'd miss her. She had always been ready to take on anything for him, regardless of her telling him off. He supposed that she might have been another parental figure. The scariest mother of Scotland, and the world probably. Finally, he noticed it was dusk, and he had to go. McGonagall accompanied him to the huge gates of Hogwarts, though not of the grounds.

"When will you leave?"

"Tonight, actually. Or tomorrow. I simply figured I owed my head of house at least a proper goodbye, for now."

"And I more than appreciated it! It was nice to see you again, Harry. If you are ever around, never hesitate to drop by. In fact, I'm ordering you to. Even in the middle of school. And if you ever need help, be it with your animagus or just plain advice… you will always find it at Hogwarts. And with me."

Harry suddenly felt a wave of gratitude and grief. "Thank you, professor. I'll remember it. And… thank you. For everything over the years."

"No Harry. _Thank you._ " McGonagall said, with perhaps the kindest yet saddest smile she had ever shown. "Now go, and live. Merlin knows you've earned it."

Harry gave a final smile and walked off with the dying of the light in its spectacular red and orange hues. He was sure he heard a muffled "And it's Minerva" behind him to Hagrid's hut.

"Hello Buckbeak." Harry said, while bowing at a respectful ten feet away. Buckbeak squawked briefly, but recognised him and bowed in return. He approached the animal. Hagrid was right, hippogriffs were magnificent. He carefully patted him on his beak.

"Buckbeak, I'm going to another country. It has lots of big forest as well, and mountains. We'll have to watch out more about you being seen… but Hagrid isn't here to take care of you. Do you want to come?"

It might have seemed silly to expect an animal to understand that all, but Harry saw in the large yellow eyes that the gist of it had come through. Buckbeak raised his head a bit and gave him a sort of pat on his head.

"Okay. I'll be moving to America, North America. Outside Forks, Washington state. Black Manor. Can you find that? You _would_ have to fly across the ocean. Or I could transport you by portkey." Harry waited cautiously. It had worked on the thestrals… Buckbeak gave an indignant bark and glared at him before trotting off. Harry understood. No transportation for Bucky besides his own wings. He'd get there on his own.

'There's one more thing I need to do', Harry thought. He stood a next to the burned remains of Hagrid's hut and faced the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid himself had never been found. For Harry that was proof that he might not be dead. He was probably out there, somewhere. With Grawp. Harry had refused to consider the other option, but he could not shake of the feeling of dread whenever he thought of Hagrid. The half-giant had in many ways been a real father-figure to him. Not overly present, never really pushing or demanding anything, but always ready to look out for him. Always believing in him. He was still Harry's first friend. Even Hedwig, precious Hedwig that was perhaps his dearest friend after all (who else kept him company during his summers?) had been a gift from Hagrid.

Harry blinked away some tears. He had never really thanked Hagrid. And the last memory Hagrid had had of him was probably holding his body, faking dead to him after seemingly giving up after all they fought for. Harry felt sickened with himself. Perhaps taking care of Buckbeak would be a very small way in repaying. He knew Hagrid would've liked that, at least.

In the late evening, it was already ominously dark inside the forest, as it always was in his memories. Mist began to creep between the trees, and the light was already too low to actually help him. But he needed to do it now. The beast he was searching for would be active at night. Pulling himself together, he stepped forward and marched straight into the creepy dark forest as the light left behind the mountains.

Two hours later, Harry was tired and his leg hurt. He had overestimated his ability to ignore it. He knew it wouldn't make it back, but he had long passed the wards by now. He could always apparate away. Tired, he made his way over to sit on a fallen tree log for a moment, to grant his leg some rest from the constant ache as he heard something crack. It was to his side and the cracks began to follow in quick succession, moving around him, louder and louder circling him. The amount of noise could only be made by something big. He steeled himself and stood straight ahead, wand out towards the two big, blazing yellow eyes that looked right at him. For a moment it was silent, until they launched themselves forward towards Harry's open spot. It jumped out of the trees, shook the ground at his landing and came to a screeching halt in front of the little wizard that had crossed into its territory.

Harry grinned towards it. "Hello, beasty. Up for a challenge?" 'Beasty' roared with all its might.

* * *

 **21th of July – 1998**

 **06:00 am, Atlantic ocean.**

It was quiet in the cockpit. Dawn had just arrived and the vision was clearing up with the growing of the bright light of the morning, but nearly all passengers were still asleep. The pilot named Dean Underhill fought a yawn away. It was a calm flight, had so far gone without a hitch. Another hour or two and they would be landing on American soil after their late departure from Heathrow. His captain was resting besides him.

Captain O'Malley. An old captain who was probably in the last month of his career. The oldest one of all their pilots. No one seemed to know his first name. Those that did, bluntly refused to say it out loud. The old captain hated it. He was simply Cap'n O'Malley. 'Cap' or 'Mal' for his fellows at the pub. As of late, his drinking, age, manners, articulation and a whole slew of other things were no longer neat enough. It was a public secret that O'Malley was daring some of his superiors to actually fire him by poking them, taunting them and generally being a sarcastic pain in the arse. No one had the guts to do it and the bastard knew it. He had been given no less than twenty-seven warnings in his entire career, of which twenty-six were in his last three months.

It was very odd. Captain O'Malley had always been a bit gruff or unorthodox but still did everything by the book and was stricter than a military general. Perhaps unsurprising. He _had_ been in the military. But the last months he had decided to have some fun in the end of his career, just because he could. No one knew how to react to it. But O'Malley was something of a legend, an old experienced veteran who seemed to came straight out of a Clive Cussler novel. O'Malley got away with it all. Dean stared outside his left window, feeling a bit nostalgic, despite his young age. O'Malley had been something of a mentor to him. He would miss the captain, that was certain.

Suddenly he blinked his eyes in confusion. Was he dreaming? No, he was certainly awake. Had he seen it wrong? He must've- there! There it was again! And in plain sight! Dean stared, utterly bewildered by the surreal scene to his left.

"Captain. Captain, wake up!" he said urgently, not taking his eyes off the subject

"Hu-wufblewhat-izzit?" the captain mumbled, tired.

"There, below us, to our left" the co-pilot whispered.

"Whaddaya mean, blewuz ando-ourlef-…_...-oh-" O'Malley grumbled annoyed, his eyes widening and his voice halting.

"I'm not seeing it wrong then, captain?"

"Donthinkzo, kid."

"Is that a car?" the co-pilot asked, still seeking confirmation in his astonishment.

"Looklike one" his mentor admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"What would it really be?" O'Malley peered at the car.

"Looklike anold Ford Anglia from '54, had one whennIwaz a young'un"

"That's not what I meant! It's a car! Flying above the ocean! I can't do that!"

"Who arwe to tell tha' car what-e can and cant do. Leave'im be. 'E's jus making a trip."

"But it's a car!"

"We'ra inna metal box wid wheels, and tha' one's inna metal box wid wheels. Wathsta' problem?"

Dean wanted to scream in frustration and O'Malley's eyes glimmered in laughter. And just as Dean wanted to start a textbook rant on how cars had no right on the ocean –nor in the sky-, the car slowly faded and just vanished, as if it had pressed a button to become invisible. Both pilots stared at the spot, and then at each other.

"Well, thatzomething you dontzee e'ry day."

* * *

 **08.00 am**

Harry yawned and slowly opened his eyes. For a while he just looked. Everywhere around him was a thin blanket of white clouds, while land in all its colourful assets flew by below him. Technically, through him. If the car was made invisible, he and everything else were too. Good thing that hadn't failed, like last ride… He still thought that it was perhaps the most beautiful form of travelling, save a broom.

"How are you holding up, Beasty?" he asked while tapping the dashboard. "Not too tired yet? You've flown across an entire ocean, we can stop for a break of you want."

'Beasty', as the Anglia had been renamed honoured his new name by responding with a deafening roar of its engines, apparently insulted.

"You think you can make it in one trip?" a higher 'vroom', sounded affirmative.

"Alright, but stop just a little while before we get there. We need to land without people seeing us."

The car vroomed and continued. This renewed car, as an accident of all the combined magic –and no doubt it picked up some dubious things in the forbidden forest- was clearly stronger than the old one. Perhaps because it was more of an entity now, an accidental magical _creature? Conscious? Being?_ It clearly was aware and had a sense of intelligence and individuality in some sorts, while it was still not really 'alive' by any of the terms. Harry doubted it had a soul. It would be an interesting thing to think about. Hadn't something similar been often used as a subject of debate in muggle pop culture? In science fiction?

Harry relaxed in his chair. He could think about it later, now was not the time. Now was the time to be content with the knowledge that he was flying in an automatic invisible flying car. Nothing was cooler than a self-steering invisible flying car.

It had been pure coincidence, really. He had looked up a bit about the USA and found a mention of their car culture. Naturally it brought up the memories of 'Beasty'. Last time he had seen 'Beasty' was during the battle of Hogwarts. Beasty had randomly appeared and flew around the giants for a while, honking loudly to annoy them, ran over a couple of death eaters, the usual stuff. And somehow convinced a few mercenaries to flee in the car before dropping them from a great height. Beasty had had a good time.

Harry had let all the flying to Beasty. Beasty seemed to know what to do and where to go. It was nearly midday when he decided to do a check with wand and map. "Point me, Forks, Washington." His wand had no trouble and immediately pointed straight in the direction they were going, a tiny bit to the left. Harry checked it with a map and concluded that they were flying over Canada, rather than the states. They had been flying over land for hours but were over a sea again now. Harry could only conclude that they had passed by the bottom of icy Greenland, over Newfoundland and were flying over the Hudson Bay now. Given the lack of cities he had seen and the past land, it was probably a good decision, apart from the fact that it was the shortest in a straight line.

Hours later, Harry had to admit he'd give a bloody lot to be able to stretch his legs. He'd been reading up about the wardstones he would need to reactivate for the Black Manor, and he had already finished it. Beasty flew a lot faster than he used to – the dashboard couldn't go fast enough at least but it was still a bloody long way. They had passed across Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta and were crossing a mountain range with some tips of snow now. It was early evening. There was still enough light, but Harry wondered for how long. He would have preferred to not have to arrive in the middle of the night. After travelling for over 4500 miles and spending about 24 hours in a car seat, he looked forward to a bed. And a loo.

Suddenly, with a jerk that did unpleasant things to Harry's stomach the car seemed to start plummeting and descending to the ground, making several turns. The thick clouds blocked his sight for a while until they dove out of it. Fortunately for Harry, it didn't seem to plan to crash into a tree again as it still soared high above a mighty forest. Harry looked outside. A truly great forest, as far as the eye could reach was beneath him. Everything seemed green, with the light variation of a bluish shine or light mist that floated above and between the high trees. It still seemed great, old, wild and untouched. But it was not as dark as the forbidden forest. Not as threatening. Simply a vast refuge for whatever still resided here in the wilderness. But over it all was a light watery sun of a summer evening, which gave it all a much warmer, friendlier feeling despite the obvious wet climate.

Harry had many reservation, but a steadily growing part felt a bit excitement. An adventure of sorts.

And a very tiny part, so tiny that he barely noticed it, felt as if he had finally found a home.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, Harry's side. Lots of dead. Lots of ninjas cutting onions around here. Next chapter should have less death, angst and gloom. Pinky promise. O'Malley is a bit of a tribute to an old teacher I had. I am quite satisfied with the first parts. Voldemort's death is of course largely based on JK's version, but I haven't read it in a while, so I simply used some research and memory to word it on my own. I think Death turned out nicely as well. It's suite fun to try and write something that obviously isn't remotely human. I am less satisfied with the whole Australia part. It is too much of a filler, while it was supposed to be a bonding moment between Harry and Hermione were he learns he can't live on in England.

I originally wanted to make this chapter until the encounter from the end of last chapter, but it was already growing way too long like this. I wanted to finish both Harry's and Rosalie's story pre-Forks in one chapter, so it wouldn't drag on too long. It's still sort of finished. I mean, he's in Forks now and can start meeting the characters. And I still need to have some other material left beyond just Rosalie/Harry interaction.

 **A/N 2:** If you like this pairing and you haven't read 'Chrysochlorous' by yet, go read it. Like, now. Trust me. 'Firework, Magic and Destiny' by flanzarsian is also worth mentioning, though it seems abandoned.

 **A/N 3:** Thank for reading, if you have the time please leave a review. As stated before : I write slow, update slower. These fics are not my priorities, as much as I enjoy imagining these things up.

 **A/N 4:** A bit late, but still a happy 2016 people!

 **A/N 5:** For those finding Harry weak: I'm somewhat continuing from the books, and in the books, he simply isn't a godlike being. He won't be a godlike Harry. But he'll pack enough of a punch. Part of what intrigues me is a contrast between vast physical superiority and magical strenght. The whole 'legless' part is something that makes it more obvious, a symbolisation that the war cost him. It won't really be the focus. What he can actually do or not do will become clearer in time. So far, it was more about background than powers. Don't worry. He'll have his awesome moments.


End file.
